


A Breach in His Heart

by Zormikea



Series: Maxwell of Sorrows [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Demonic possession gone wrong, Denial, M/M, Mentally unstable Inquisitor, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 132,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zormikea/pseuds/Zormikea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story follows the ties between Maxwell Trevelyan and Commander Cullen. Both of them warriors with similar goals, they quickly become friends. However, there seems to be more to it, and while the soon to be Inquisitor may reluctantly understand and try dealing with it, the Commander is a completely different case.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello._
> 
> _The idea for this story came to me gradually while I was playing the Inquisition. It appears to me that even though the romance options in the game are limited, there are still enough scenes that make your thoughts wander in all kinds of directions. I allowed myself to start writing down some ideas of mine, and this is the result._
> 
> _Edit: it has been a while since I’ve started writing this, and I need to tell you that the plot I originally had in mind has changed. A lot. This story is dark and writes itself, be prepared for that (I can, however, promise you that the main pairing will not be disturbed by any other character)._
> 
> _DA:I belongs to BioWare._
> 
> _P.S.: Please forgive me for my mistakes. English is not my first language, and I don’t have a beta. I still return to every chapter and attempt to make them at least a little better._

He shuddered. Uneasiness descended from the high ceiling of the dimly lit room, slid down the walls and crept towards him like a vicious predator – a little too threatening for his taste. Wrong.

But then again, pretty much everything lately felt wrong. As far as his memory stretched, it started with the rift he had fallen out of, barely conscious and feeling like he’d put his entire left arm into a boiling pot. The pain had been unbearable enough to take him out almost instantly- which he was thankful for, considering the alternative. When he’d come to for the second time, a woman appeared out of nowhere and wouldn’t stop yelling at him, demanding answers he hadn’t even had time to start thinking about. Not that it would have worked – he had no memories of being inside the rift, nor did he remember how he’d gotten outside or where he’d been before that. He’d only been aware of the severe pain in his hand, obscure green light devouring it hungrily, and  _dear Maker, can she please just lose her voice already?_

He didn’t even believe in the Maker that much. Probably the reason his request hadn’t been fulfilled.

After way too much time of scaring his poor soul she’d finally taken pity on him and told him that the sky was torn open, bright green light connecting whatever there was inside of it to the ground. Demons and evil spirits were pouring out of the Breach like angry bees from a disturbed hive, attacking everything that came into sight. After briefly describing the situation she’d added that everyone considered him guilty of causing the entire mess.

Seeker Cassandra, the woman who’d yelled at him and thus became the reason of his headache for the rest of the day –  _that_  he was sure of – had led him to a rift, and it turned out, miraculously, that his left hand had learned to close such things professionally while he'd been out. That knowledge had come to him in the most sudden manner when an elf by the name Solas grabbed his wrist and raised his hand towards the glowing thing. That action alone had made him extremely surprised, since elves only so rarely showed anything besides fear in the place he'd grown up. He’d been so taken aback he’d torn his hand away as soon as it was possible. Solas had never showed any reaction to that, if he’d even felt something in the first place.

Then there’d been that pride demon that almost killed him when he was trying to close another rift by himself. He’d barely been able to keep his life, falling into blackness again once the fight was over. Before fainting he’d thought that if he’d ever wake up again, he’d do his best to make things right.

First thing he’d done upon waking up was making an elf girl scared, and he hadn’t even meant to do that. She’d fallen to her knees and refused to calm down no matter how hard he’d tried to make her believe she was safe. Maybe he hadn’t been in such a good condition to make anybody feel safe.

When he’d finally been able to make it outside, he found out that he had suddenly become famous. Apparently, his glory had bloomed from the tale about him killing the pride demon and closing the rift. His whole being twisted in all the wrong ways from a mere thought of it; he didn’t want any of that. And by no means was he the Herald of Andraste; the way people looked at him, their eyes full of hope, fear and recognition – all of that only made him desperate to crawl into a dark corner somewhere far, far away and hide until theruckus died down. His steps wide, eyes glued to the ground – that’s how he’d made it to the chantry. Most heroic behavior ever seen in Thedas.

In the chantry he’d almost waved goodbye to his own life  _again_. Whoever was torturing him with those death threats could’ve shown more goddamn determination or just leave him alone already. He wanted nothing more than to continue his life of a simple swordsman- he wasn’t capable of doing more anyway.

 “…she’s our Spymaster.”

“Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Silence dawned upon the room, and it took a while for Maxwell to realize that people who gathered in there were waiting for his response. They eyed him carefully, faces a perfect mix of neutrality, mild curiosity and reluctant friendliness. Only the Seeker stood out of the picture with a permanent scowl on her face and a distrustful stare that bore into Maxwell without any mercy. He could swear she didn’t even blink.

“Glad to meet you,” he coughed, feeling completely stressed.

Thankfully, after the short introduction the discussion of the matter at hand resumed, and he was left trying to bury the uneasy feeling under a pile of raising questions, his glance dropping down to the table with two huge maps on it. Orlais and Ferelden. The thing they were dealing with was unbelievably huge.

There was the Breach in the sky, and now there also was the Inquisition. The establishment of the Inquisition did protect Maxwell’s life from the most unwelcomed ending, but it also made the Chantry extremely angry – a problem that was further worsened by the rumor of Maxwell being chosen by Andraste herself. The Chantry turned its back on the Inquisition, calling them a bunch of heretics, and the Herald of Andraste ended up being an abyss that prevented any form of alliance from happening.

As a result, there was a suggestion of siding with the rebel mages – the ‘darker’ side of the world and the worst enemy of the Chantry. Coming from the Ambassador Josephine and sister Leliana, it was reluctantly supported by Cassandra. Commander Cullen, however, being a former templar himself, wasn’t very fond of that idea.

 _What am I even doing here_? Maxwell questioned himself.  _An Ambassador, a Spymaster, a Commander and a Seeker – just how do_ ** _I_**   _belong here?_  He hardly had any idea of what was going on in the world besides the huge green gap in the sky. Compared to the library of knowledge these people possessed in their heads, he only had a small shabby book with a couple of pages written in nasty and small handwriting.

…on the other hand, that was clearly an underestimation. He wasn’t  _that_  bad.

 _But I don’t want to be here,_ a sharp thought pounded on him, making him fidget.

“…quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?”

“What?”

Maxwell’s eyes shot up. Commander Cullen was standing across the table, looking slightly concerned and probably a bit offended by the fact that the Herald of Andraste had somehow managed to lose the train of what was meant to be a serious conversation.

“Your title. Does it bother you?” he repeated.

“Ah. I don’t… really know,” Maxwell answered, scratching the back of his neck nervously. The bell of uncomfortableness rang every single time anyone called him the Herald of Andraste, the weight of people’s hopes as destructive as a direct impact of a giant hammer right into his spine. Maxwell wasn’t used to be relied on – a trait that came from being the youngest child in the Trevelyan family. Younger children were the ones who relied on older people, and his family was noble on top of that. But no way was he admitting anything aloud and in front of people he'd only met a few minutes ago.

The Commander nodded, and there was a moment of brief silence between them because neither knew what to add to that part of the conversation.

“There is something you can do,” Leliana offered helpfully. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far and knows those involved. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

Maxwell frowned and said nothing. As far as he knew, no one from the Chantry would want to deal with a bunch of declared heretics; it instantly felt like a trap.

“I understand she is a reasonable sort,” Leliana assured him with a soft smile as if she’d just read his mind. “Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters?”

“…I guess, that needs checking,” Maxwell slowly agreed, eyes closing as he struggled to accept the realization of this not being an opportunity to escape. They wouldn’t let him go, and even if they did, he’d only find himself in greater danger. “You want me to go there?”

“Yes, and I will be coming with you,” Cassandra added, her voice cold and strained. The man could understand her lack of warmth to some extent: Cassandra was a strong woman, a Seeker, a leader, nearly the most important person in the Inquisition. And not even a day ago he'd been a prisoner who fell out of a rift. People still believed he was the sole reason of the entire massacre out there, and after re-establishing the Inquisition and letting him live, after taking such a risk, Cassandra would be stupid to let him wander off alone.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Maxwell lied, and from the way she stared at him for a second and then quickly turned her eyes away, his words seemed to surprise her.

“You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe,” Leliana said, her finger pointing at near middle of the map of Ferelden. “But I suggest resting for today. You,” she looked directly at Maxwell, “must be very tired after what happened. A one night rest is not enough to help you recover, so sleep more and eat as much as you can. Also take a walk outside as soon as you’re able: there are people who would like to meet you. I’m sure you would like to meet them as well.”

“Of… course,” Maxwell nodded, his mind protesting with  _‘Didn’t you say it wasn’t far?’_  in the background. “I’m going to do just that, if you don’t mind.”

He bowed and hurried outside. As soon as the heavy door closed behind the man, he heard muffled voices rising in the room, arguing, but there was no desire to concentrate on it right now. Maxwell’s stomach was empty and displeased, and it was too early for the tavern to close. He couldn’t get away from the Inquisition, so at least there was food to soothe some of his anxiety.

***

On his way to the tavern Maxwell did meet several important people. The crowd that had met him before was already gone, probably back to their duties, but some had to stay outside. Merchants and blacksmiths were freezing out on the road – well, mostly merchants were freezing, since blacksmiths had fire and active work to keep them heated. There were also herbalists that seemed to have no point in wandering outside for long; no plants were growing nearby anyway, the ground was covered in soft snow.

And then there were the merchants again…

 _Am I going in circles_ , Maxwell sighed, feeling even colder than before. Shiver went down his spine, and he quickened his pace.

Then there were the blacksmiths…

“I was wondering if you needed help with finding anything,” a familiar voice called from somewhere close. “But if you like wandering about, I won’t stop you.”

Maxwell turned on the spot.

“V-varric!” he exclaimed, memory supplying him with a picture from the previous days, lines faint but distinctive enough. The dwarf had helped Maxwell in his fight against the pride demon, if he recalled correctly. “Y-yeah, I think I’m lost. Have you s-seen a tavern anywhere?”

“Oh yeah,” the dwarf answered, nodding to the side with a small smile. “Last time I checked, one was pretty close. Actually, you’ve passed it twice already, and I was beginning to feel sympathetic. Need a guide? I was about to go there myself anyway.”

“O-oh yes, p-please,” the man answered with a tight smile. “I really need that.”

“Let’s not waste any more time freezing here then, shall we?” Varric picked up his crossbow and went ahead. Maxwell followed close.

The tavern was small, and a few windows were open, but somehow the place looked nice and warm and totally inviting. There weren’t many people in here – actually, there were none except for the owner and a bard - and that offered a vast variety of seats to choose from. Varric nudged Maxwell towards a table near the fireplace without a single word.

As they were settling for a meal, the bard started a slow, quiet tune that felt surprisingly pleasant to Maxwell’s ears, and after a moment he found himself humming along, memorizing it. The innkeeper was at their table on instant, two plates full of steaming, heavenly looking food resting on a round tray she was holding tightly in her hands. Judging by the woman's nervous and yet excited behavior, she knew exactly who her guests were.

 _Once we were_  
_In our peace_  
_With our lives assured_  
_Once we were_  
_Not afraid of the dark_

“So, how is it going, the Herald of Andraste?” the dwarf smirked when the innkeeper left, laying his hands on the table. There was something sly in his eyes, right there, shining like a gem in the very depths of a dark cave. Maxwell was about to ask him not to use the disturbing title anymore but decided against it the last second.

“Why are you asking?” he asked instead, suspicious.

“Why, you think I’m already gathering details for a new story?” Varric’s smirk became wider. “I might be thinking about writing a book, yes, but right now I’m just concerned.”

“I see…” Maxwell relaxed slightly. “Thank you. Honestly… I’m not entirely sure I’m happy with my new title. It makes me nervous.”

“Hm, thought so,” Varric nodded. “You’d think a person with a title like that would smile until their face breaks. You look like you’re doomed.”

“Am I not?”

The innkeeper approached them again, with two heavy mugs this time.  Making a single ungraceful movement, she tripped and almost fell but was saved by Varric and his surprisingly remarkable for a dwarf agility. Maxwell sat down again and wondered if she was obliged to bring them anything like that, but then again, it was plain that she wasn’t against it. Quite the opposite, in fact, she seemed to be very happy to serve... Probably the Herald of Andraste’s doing.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and without having anything else to distract himself with, Maxwell ended up diving into gloomy thoughts again. He threw a glance at the door and sighed quietly as his confidence in calming food dissipated. The man needed to concentrate on something before stress would be able to hit him harder.

 “Varric…” he called hesitantly.

The dwarf looked up. “Yeah?”

_Quick, come up with a random topic._

“It’s so cold outside, and you’re walking with your chest bare. How aren’t you cold?”

 _Great one,_ Maxwell almost hit his forehead.

Varric eyed him for a second and then grinned.

“Chest hair.”

“Chest hair,” the man repeated without thinking. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah, and I suggest keeping yours,” the dwarf added. “Keeps you warm better than anything.”

“Is that a joke…?”

“No.”

There was a long moment of mutual staring. Maxwell raised an eyebrow, trying to understand where this conversation just went. He hadn’t expected such a turn, not even a little.

“…I’ll see what I can do,” he finally said and picked his fork. Varric laughed.

“Actually, maybe chest hair works only for me,” he continued. “But there’s no problem with clothes here. Cassandra would start eating people if she heard someone was freezing. Means someone else doesn’t do their work properly.”

Maxwell could almost see that happening. Raging around people sounded so like her, especially if he went back to their first meeting. Here it wasn’t all that bad, he supposed: at least the Inquisition wouldn’t freeze to death.

“But what if there really won’t be enough clothes?” He asked.

Varric’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I bet she’ll try ripping the fur from the Commander’s overcoat. Extra warm material and all. Have you seen it yet? The hairs almost scream ‘we want to be free!’. That would be quite a show.”

He was obviously joking, and while Maxwell felt a little guilty laughing at the Commander, he couldn’t help smiling. The day became a tiny bit brighter.

“Thank you, Varric,” he said.

The dwarf smiled back.

***

It turned out Varric was right: when Maxwell returned to his small wooden house, there was a pile of neatly folded clothes waiting for him patiently on the bed. He was surprised to learn that almost all of them fit him pretty well as if someone had been eyeing him the whole time and picked the correct measurements without asking. Maxwell dropped the clothes into a chest beside his bed and wrapped himself into a blanket that was made of thick fur of a poor wild animal– actually, there may have been more than one: the blanket was so big it almost touched the floor.

“Poor guys,” he said quietly, climbing on the bed and hiding his whole body under the warm cloth.

The man lay unmoving for a long while, attempting to relax, and soon the sun slowly began to settle, pressing down against the sharp tips of mountains, bleeding red and orange all across the sky. Maxwell didn’t have any certain plans for the evening, though he suspected it was probably a good time to get to know the advisors better. He was tied in all this, after all- or more like stuck, knee deep. So why not?

He shifted upwards, considering the option, and then fell back on the bed, reluctant to abandon the warmth.  _Come on,_  a voice in his head said.  _You’re all in this together. Perhaps you can at least try?_

“Right,” Maxwell sighed and rolled towards the edge. He was still hesitant to go outside since most people recognized him and made him feel uncomfortable as a result, plus he didn’t really want to deal with all sorts of reality right now: there were enough events stacked on his shoulders for a lifetime already. Not to mention the weather...

But the man knew it needed to be done. So he put on a new pair of thick boots and went out, covering as much of himself with the blanket as he could.

As soon as Maxwell got out again, strong wind slammed itself right into his face, making him utter rude words under his breath, words he’d be ashamed of if he was still living with his wealthy family. But at least now it was warmer, even if his clothes felt pretty heavy. Especially the blanket he’d sworn not to take off no matter what happened.

Maxwell spotted a target pretty quickly: sister Leliana was walking down the road not so far away, so he wouldn’t have any trouble stopping her and trying to begin a conversation. Maxwell was about to call out to her when he noticed she wasn’t exactly alone, nor was she looking happy. Varric was walking beside her, listening, and neither of them looked comfortable with what they were talking about. The dwarf was first to notice him and slowly shook his head with a very serious look. It was a warning.

Maxwell stepped back quickly and hid around the corner of the house, trying not to make any noise. The Spymaster and the dwarf walked past and up the stairs, soon disappearing from the view. Maxwell sighed with both relief and disappointment: maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all…

“Are you hiding here?” a voice asked, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

“Who does that!” Maxwell grumbled, turning around.

Apparently, Commander Cullen did. He was standing a few feet away, smiling faintly.  _How did he even manage to get so close without me noticing?_ Maxwell wondered. Actually, maybe he should’ve asked that aloud.

“How did you get so close without making any noise at all?”

“I did make noise,” Cullen answered, folding his hands across his chest. “You were too busy hiding to notice. Which returns us to my question: what's going on?”

If only Maxwell knew the answer to that himself... It seemed something important was happening - or something  _private_ , why else would Varric ask him to step out of the view? And if  _that_  was the case, he probably had to keep it a secret.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I think I was about to disturb something I shouldn’t, so I hid and waited until they were gone.”

The Commander scowled.

“Who was there?” he asked, suddenly serious, and stepped out to look at the road. There was no one there already.

Maxwell swallowed. He shouldn’t have said what he did, should he have. Somehow, that only made things worse even if he didn’t know what exactly made the Commander’s guard jump up like that.

“Just… two ordinary people from here…” he tried to explain. When Cullen’s face didn’t change, not even a bit, he let it go. “Okay, okay! Fine. It was only Varric and Leliana. Must you be that persuasive…”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Cullen sighed and finally relaxed.

“And here I thought we were already having problems. You should have told me from the beginning,” he said. “There is no visible threat for us now, but we should always be on our guard, or one day we may find ourselves facing things we are not prepared for.”

Maxwell opened his mouth and closed it again. How hadn’t he thought about it sooner? If this ‘something I should not disturb’ had seemed to him as something private between two people, the Commander saw it immediately as a possible threat. Of course he did, being the Commander and all.

“I take it, you never had to look out for a lot of people before,” Cullen said.

“No,” the man admitted. “What happened there, I thought it was… special… you know? So I decided I probably had no right to talk about it.”

“Special?” Cullen repeated, sounding unsure. “Special like…” his face lit with sudden realization. “Oh! No. No, it is not like that. At least I don’t think so.”

“It isn’t?”

The Commander chuckled, and Maxwell caught himself enjoying the sound. He shrugged internally at the random thought and dismissed it.

“Such a way to end the day,” Cullen glanced at the horizon, a small smile still present on his face. Then he looked back at Maxwell and shook his head. “No, as far as I know, Varric is loyal to his Bianca.”

“To…”

“His crossbow.”

Maxwell felt his brows rise in surprise.

“Oh…” he dropped his head to watch his feet. This was becoming awkward really fast... Fortunately, the Commander seemed to get a similar thought.

“I think it would be better for you to get some rest now,” he said.

Maxwell nodded with a quiet ‘yeah’ and started walking towards the door. It dawned upon him too late that he should have probably invited the Commander inside instead of staying behind the house in cold snow. But at least the conversation wasn’t that bad.  _Yeah, definitely,_  he decided.

And stopped on the spot, the door closing behind him with a dull sound.

If there was nothing private happening, then there _was_ a problem. And this problem was serious, if both Varric’s and Leliana’s looks were anything to go by. Maxwell took the blanket off and dropped it on the bed, wondering if he should have told the Commander about that.

***

The temperature wasn’t as cruel in the morning as it had been during the night. Maxwell even left his house without the blanket, which, he supposed, would only add needless weight on his journey to Redcliffe. Besides, as far as he knew, there were no horses in Haven to carry his stuff for him. The development of the Inquisition had only started, and time would pass before he had his personal steed. Or, at least, that’s what Cassandra had told him when she visited him early that morning. Maxwell wasn’t fond of the idea of walking all the way to Redcliffe, but he supposed he had no other options.

Cassandra also told him only four people would be going, him and her included, so maybe they would find someone to help them on the road. The other two people turned out to be Varric and Solas, and Maxwell felt relieved when he found out the dwarf would be coming along. He was still concerned with the events of the previous evening and hoped Varric would throw light upon the matter.

White snowflakes were falling from the sky slowly and peacefully, the Breach shining dully behind the clouds and sending rare stripes of green to the ground. Here, so far away from the vortex, with calm wind blowing from the side and snow crunching under his feet, Maxwell felt safe. It was a false feeling, of course, yet he found himself surrendering to it from time to time. If he stopped thinking about the actual danger, he could even find the Breach captivating.  _Which is a bad thought to have,_  he told himself each time.

He still had a couple of hours before taking off to Redcliffe as Cassandra had other duties at hand. She suggested (or more like ordered) practicing his skills while she was busy, and as a warrior Maxwell was never against fighting. He also supposed it would be clever to ask Solas about his mark, but that could wait: the elf would be travelling with him anyway. Plenty of time.

He wasn’t surprised to find the Commander among the practicing recruits. As far as Maxwell knew, Cullen was their best teacher, and judging by what the man was seeing, he was great at this. The Commander was standing in the middle of his little battleground, surrounded by a dozen of practicing men, another dozen sitting nearby on a pile of planks and having a break. He looked extremely tired for such an early hour, and Maxwell wondered if he’d ever slept last night.

“Commander!” he called, approaching. Cullen looked up and nodded in greeting.

“What brings you here?” he asked when Maxwell got close enough. “I thought you had a serious trip planned for today.”

“Yeah, I have one planned,” Maxwell agreed. “Cassandra has things to take care of first, so I came here to test my skills,” he fell quiet for a couple of seconds and then pointed at the direction of the practicing men with his thumb. “Looks like our recruits got themselves a great teacher.”

“I just had a lot of practice. And there are a few people helping me from time to time,” Cullen simply answered, although the pleased glint in his eyes betrayed him instantly. It looked like the Commander wasn’t used to hearing kind words to his address.

“It certainly takes more than that to have them all reach this level in such a small period of time,” Maxwell shook his head. The words made Cullen smile more openly, yet he still chose to deny the praise verbally. He probably knew it was completely pointless.

“No, I uh…” he looked away. “If you’re looking for practice, you’re most welcome.”

“Thank you,” Maxwell said.

He went into a tent to pick a weapon, leaving the Commander mildly embarrassed and undoubtedly awkward. That, however, was a far better look on him than the one he’d had a couple of minutes ago. Maxwell could proudly pat himself on the shoulder.

The tent looked bigger on the inside than on the outside, with several wooden racks full of weapons that were waiting to be picked. Maxwell walked about for several minutes, trying to choose one. The Trevelyan family had hired a teacher for him when he was a clumsy child. Maxwell had had no fighting experience back then, so a lot of his lessons ended with scratches and bruises, most of which he inflicted himself by accident. Sometimes they had hurt so bad he wanted to stop, lying in his small bed in the corner of a dark room, crying. That wish of his had never left the four walls: a Trevelyan had no right to show his weaknesses in front of other people. Besides, with time he’d learned to ignore pain and actually had lots of fun. Years passed, and Maxwell had grown into a skilled fighter – or, at least, that’s what people had used to tell him. He personally always saw little things here and there that he needed to improve.

Upon stepping out from the tent, holding a sword and a shield (the mark on his hand pulsed with disagreement), the man easily found a bunch of opponents as several of the recruits recognized who he was and asked him for a fight. Maxwell had a number of quick matches, during all of which he had to hold himself back. Cullen was a good teacher, as were the ones helping him, but Maxwell had been practicing for all his life, and these recruits were next to new in the whole fighting thing. Some of them were better than others, but still not good enough, and in the end Maxwell was teaching others more than practicing himself. And he liked it.

The Commander noticed his eagerness to teach and stepped away to rest among the recruits, finally having his moment of peace. However, contrary to expectations, the more Maxwell fought, the less comfortable Cullen became until he finally wasn’t able to sit quietly anymore and stood up.

“Hold it!” he ordered, and the recruit whom Maxwell was teaching froze mid-attack.

The Commander approached them quickly, looking unsettled and somewhat excited.

“I want to fight you,” he stated bluntly, and men stopped their fighting to stare at them.

“To practice?” Maxwell asked, smiling. Apparently, the Commander liked his battle skills enough to want to test them himself.

“No. Yes…” Cullen stopped talking for a moment. “I want you to show me your full strength.”

Maxwell’s smile evolved into a proud grin. This was getting interesting, and he was up for a challenge. It was like both he and the Commander suddenly felt the same desire, a desire to battle against a worthy opponent. To see who was better.

“Of course, Commander, I’ll do it with pleasure,” he answered, bowing slightly. Cullen smirked and raised his sword.

The recruits forgot about their practice as soon as the Herald of Andraste and the Commander clashed in a duel. Most of them stepped back just in case because both of them looked like there was nothing real beyond their fight.

It’d been a long while since Maxwell last fought an opponent like this. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever met somebody as strong as the Commander. Where he attacked, Cullen would block without any difficulty; where Cullen stroke, he’d dodge and strike right back only to be blocked again. And the more his attacks were blocked, the more excited Maxwell became, his movements getting sharper and faster with each lunge. He realized he was grinning, and so was the Commander, and from the frequent and enthusiastic glances the man kept shooting him Maxwell understood that this was exactly what he wanted. No matter what had happened to make the Commander stay awake at night, this was his cure. Maxwell decided he only had one thing to add.

In the middle of a dodge he deliberately slipped and fell back clumsily, letting go of his sword. The sharp tip of a blade instantly pressed to his chest, ending the fight. Above him the Commander was laughing light-heartedly.

“I won,” he declared, lowering his weapon and reaching his free hand out to offer Maxwell help. His help was quickly accepted, the Herald’s fingers clasping around his wrist confidently. The gesture didn’t seem to confuse Cullen even a bit, and a moment later Maxwell was standing on his feet, shaking off the snow.

“I let you win,” he corrected, even though he was sure he made his loss look pretty natural. He just wanted to keep some dignity.

“I am aware of that,” Cullen agreed, confusing him completely. Maxwell froze, looking up again.

“You… are?” he asked reluctantly. “How did you understand?”

“Well,” Cullen sheathed his sword, his chest heaving. “Our fight wasn’t exactly short, and such a mistake looked too convenient to be unintentional. You weren’t tired. You never lost your guard or your balance.”

Maxwell took his answer in, looking mildly surprised. Then, after a brief moment, he offered a small smile.

“You’re okay with that?” he asked.

“No,” the Commander answered, mirroring the expression. “Any other day I would be very disappointed. But… I understand that today you had your reasons to end our fight in such a way.”

 _…did he see right through me or something_ _?_ Maxwell wondered.

There was a moment of silence, during which they both seemed to realize they were still standing in the middle of the training ground, surrounded by shocked recruits and other people they had attracted with their fighting. Not to mention they were looking at each other and smiling without any particular reason. There  _was_  a reason, but Maxwell doubted anybody would understand.

The Commander coughed and hid his smile carefully, returning to his old self-composed state. But even as he did that, his eyes never lost their glint entirely, and Maxwell was happy he’d managed to be of help. The next time Cullen addressed his recruits, he sounded way more optimistic, which seemed to charge his men as well.

“Come take a break with me,” the Commander called Maxwell after a while. “I need to talk to you.”

Cullen led him to a pile of planks covered with several thick pieces of old, faded red cloth. All recruits were practicing now, so there was a lot of free space for both men. They sat down on the highest plank, their feet hardly touching the ground. Maxwell noticed that neither he, nor the Commander minded.

Having not much else to do, he picked a green apple from a nearby bowl and sank his teeth into it. Sour juice filled his mouth instantly.

“You fought well,” the Commander said. “I really enjoyed it. To tell the truth, I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a fight that much. I’m not even sure that ever happened.”

“I know,” Maxwell answered, and then he suddenly couldn’t stop talking. “I feel the same way exactly. Been a while since I enjoyed a fight at all... Especially since the day my family decided to make me a templar. I loved fighting when I was a kid, so I was quite successful in it, practicing day and night like a fanatic. Child’s passion, you know?” He frowned, observing the practicing recruits. “After their decision it all became something I had to do. Things that you like stop being your favorite when they’re forced upon you. Funny, because I never actually made it to the Chantry.”

There was no response for a while, and Maxwell bit his lip, wondering if his sudden burst of speech startled the Commander into shock or irritation. It was just that he knew now that they shared the fighting passion, and it kind of made him forget about all his worries... The man threw what he expected to be a quick glance at Cullen, ending up watching him closely instead. There was something written on that face, but the letters were twisted, and he couldn’t read them.

“You didn’t want to become one, then,” Cullen said, his eyes locked on the ground and voice quiet.

“Not really, no,” Maxwell agreed. “I wasn’t the only child in the family, and I thought the Chantry would only limit my freedom. Not to mention I didn’t believe in the Maker.”

“Do you now?”

“Do I what? Still think that or believe in the Maker?”

“Both.”

“Well… ” Maxwell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think I’d be trapped in endless duties, yes. But now it’s not only about that, I guess. The war and all. As for the Maker,” he bit the apple again, thoughtful, “I don’t know. There’s the Breach, life, magic, real demons and such, so there should be something that gave birth to all of that. Which is kind of mortifying, I mean, imagine that there’s some force that makes all of this come into motion, and beyond it there’s nothing. People in the Chantry talk about the Maker like he’s a person, a father. That’s just one man, it’s scary. I don’t want to believe in that.”

“I see,” Cullen nodded and fell silent.

“Did you want to become a templar?” Maxwell asked a moment later, not quite sure if he picked the right time to ask about that; still, the silence was making him nervous. He felt like things would go completely terrible if he kept sitting there with his mouth shut.

“Yes,” the Commander answered, looking up and at him hesitantly. “I was eager, actually; wanted to protect those in need. I used to beg the templars at our local chantry to teach me and must’ve shown promise, because the knight-captain asked my parents to let me learn. I was thirteen at the time.”

 _We were completely different,_  Maxwell thought. While he was aware of many people wanting to become templars, he never entirely understood it. A person didn’t need to become a templar in order to save people, and he saw the Chantry more as a society of religious people who wanted to have a direction. A purpose. They didn’t want to believe they were alone in the world, so they chose to worship something they’d never even seen before. And if he started digging deeper, thinking about them and the mages, it stopped making sense at all.

“In the end, aren’t you protecting everyone from the Maker himself?” he asked.

Cullen didn’t answer, and after a while Maxwell decided not to push any further. He took another apple from the bowl, a red one, and offered it to the Commander. The man eyed it thoughtfully for a couple of seconds and then took it, nodding in a quiet sign of gratitude.

***

Cassandra found them sitting there, eating in silence. She hadn’t forgotten to put on her permanent scowl, but Maxwell was already used to that. He caught himself thinking he’d become worried if it disappeared.

“Commander,” she greeted Cullen and turned to Maxwell, her face becoming even colder, “…and you. Everything is ready. We should head out.”

“Of course,” Maxwell answered without getting much offended. He understood her lack of trust, even if it made him tense all the time. Bless their first meeting. “I’ve been ready all morning.”

“Good,” she said, watching him hop off the pile of planks, an unfinished apple still in hand.

“Be safe there,” the Commander stood up, his face perfectly neutral. “I shall return to the recruits. And thank you for helping me earlier.”

“My pleasure,” Maxwell smiled. “I’d love to practice here more often, if you don’t mind.”

He was surprised to see how the Commander changed as soon as Cassandra came. There was no sign of his sad thoughtfulness anymore, no more hesitation or uncertainty. There was only a man who had his duties and nothing else. That made Maxwell’s smile falter a little: he’d thought the advisors were closer than that. Cassandra, however, didn’t seem or care to notice.

“Of course,” Cullen said. “You are always welcome.”

Upon saying their hasty goodbyes, Cassandra took Maxwell to the gates. The latter felt rather reluctant to leave the practice ground, and the air became even tenser now when he remembered what was lying ahead of them.

“You helped our Commander?” Cassandra asked, interrupting his line of thought.

“A little,” Maxwell answered. “I think I’ve found my place in Haven. Something I can help you with.”

“That is a good thing to hear,” the Seeker noted. She didn’t bother to look at him, but he could swear her voice sounded lighter. “I have witnessed you in battle, and I must admit I am very impressed.”

Maxwell stumbled upon a small rock and almost fell down.

“Really?” He asked, suspicious. That was the first time Cassandra ever approved of him… or anything to that matter. He must’ve wandered into another dimension just now.

“The Inquisition is still young,” the Seeker said. “The only man capable of teaching the recruits is our Commander. And he has a lot on him even without that. Your help is much appreciated.”

She spared him a glance that lacked its usual mistrust, and Maxwell took it as a small victory. He smiled in return, which made Cassandra look away swiftly, her lips pursed in a thin line.  _I thought you didn’t trust me,_  he wanted to say, but there was a huge chance she’d agree with that.

“Thank you,” he said instead. No answer came back, and the man decided he’d let it go; he’d gotten his ‘almost praise’ anyway.

The gates came into his view soon after, Varric and Solas standing by it and looking all set and excited- though in case of Solas it was more calm and curious. The elf probably had as many questions about the mark as Maxwell did, and the man wouldn’t be taken aback if it turned out little bothered Solas beyond that. Still, he wouldn’t call that a bad thing since the elf seemed to know more than anyone around, and while the episode at the Conclave had made Maxwell jump on his spot, now he was rather happy to have Solas by his side.

He was glad to see Varric as well; the dwarf would be a welcome distraction from the tough reality. Storytellers had it in them, that spark of light that brightened even the darkest of times. And honestly speaking, Maxwell suspected he’d go mad without a happy face nearby.

…he still thought he’d go mad after walking all the way to Redcliffe on foot.

“Let’s go,” Cassandra strode past them, not even looking back to see if they followed.

Maxwell stared at Varric, and the dwarf shook his head, smiling.

“This is going to be a long day,” he said, patting his crossbow. “I hope you’re prepared for it. Believe this humble dwarf, I spent quite a lot of time with our Seeker. She doesn’t get very happy when things go wrong.”

“I can imagine,” Maxwell agreed. His mark pulsed slightly, and he bent his fingers to touch it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Once we were_  
_In our peace_  
_With our lives assured_  
_Once we were_  
_Not afraid of the dark_

 _Once we sat in our kingdom_  
_With hope and pride._  
_Once we ran through…_

_…_

_Through... through…_

_Uh._

“Through the fields with great strides,” Varric reminded him helpfully from behind, and Maxwell jumped on his spot, startled.

After having left the camp in Hinterlands several hours ago their small group decided to take a break by a broad river, in a place where rocks and plants were huge enough to put them out of plain sight. Clashes with the rebel mages and the templars hadn’t proven to be such a big threat so far, but with mother Giselle under their wing no one wanted to take risks.

Having had a few quick bites, Maxwell excused himself and went to seek some private time: he was still feeling off after trying to get used to the real fighting again, that kind of fighting where his opponents actually  _wanted_  to kill him. Practicing his battle skills was usually the best way to keep his mind off things, but Maxwell had enough of that already, so he ended up using the other method, which he considered a good alternative.

He’d been pretty certain he was standing far enough from the others, half hidden behind the trunk of a big tree. Apparently, not anymore. Maxwell grumbled and turned around slowly.

“You all need to stop doing that,” he said, involuntarily remembering the time when the Commander had done the same. “What if you scare me to death one day? Just imagine: I’m falling down, senseless –here, on this very spot, a horrible grimace on my face...”

“How much horribleness do you want me to picture exactly?” the dwarf asked, smirking.

“Oh, it would be a horrible, horrible one.”

“Double horrible, then. Forever imprinted on my mind, oh mighty Herald.”

“You’re not helping,” Maxwell frowned, hitting the dirt under his feet with a tip of his boot. “I was trying to get used to my new way of life here. You don’t see the templars and the mages going berserk all around you every day.”

“You were singing,” Varric pointed out, making him flinch slightly.

“Thank you very much, I so haven’t noticed,” Maxwell made a face. There was no denying his dreadful sin now, was there. “It’s just something I enjoy doing from time to time. Can play some instruments too.”

The dwarf folded his arms, a shadow of curiosity flashing across his face.

“Well, it may not be my business,” he started a moment later, “but why are you a warrior, then? And wielding a great sword on top of that. Why not a bard?”

“It’s just a hobby,” Maxwell shrugged. “I’m a Trevelyan. Parents taught us to understand that we should have many strengths. Besides, as much as I’ve heard, bards are not that easy.”

“Us?”

_Ah. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth._

“I have two older brothers. Had a sister, too… but that’s not really important.” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Thing is, each of us developed different skills, all based on our talents or things we liked doing as children.”

“And you happened to like fighting and singing?”

Maxwell nodded reluctantly. When Varric put it that way, it really looked kind of incompatible.

“I’m nowhere as good as my brothers, but I’m trying,” he finished with a small and uneasy smile, deciding he’d already told way more than he would’ve liked. “But enough of this. I think we should return to the others. Not sure Cassandra approves of us discussing our evil plans while she’s sitting that far.”

“Yeah,” the dwarf agreed, grinning. “I bet she’s thinking about that already.” Which seemed most likely, if all the cold glares the Seeker was shooting in their direction was anything to go by. Maxwell smiled innocently at her, taking his first steps back.

“Careful, you’re angering the mistress,” Varric laughed, which only made Cassandra more dissatisfied.

She wasn’t in her best mood these days, though a small improvement was showing since Mother Giselle had come around. They hadn’t planned to escort her all the way to Haven at first, as there were enough agents of the Inquisition to do that for them, but in the end opted otherwise.

Mother Giselle pointed at those whom she considered potential allies: people who struck their roots deep into Val Royeaux in their attempts to gain strong positions within the Chantry. Trying to impress them promised to be tricky and possibly dangerous, but it was all they had for the time being, and the opportunity would soon disappear. Any other business in Hinterlands would have to wait, searching for precious horses included.

The other thing that appeared to be a serious problem was Maxwell’s mark. It continued to pulse and shine brightly from under the glove from time to time, alerting and unnerving almost everyone around. People weren’t used to the ominous ‘gift’ yet, and Maxwell knew he couldn’t let it do the same in Val Royeaux – not if he wanted to gain allies. Unfortunately, he couldn’t control it. Solas had told him once that the shining would occur every time a rift was nearby or created, yet after some time they found out it didn’t always work that way. Even now, when they were camping with no rifts present and the Breach glowing dully behind the clouds, the mark wouldn’t stop pulsing. It wasn’t really painful, but it was itching unbearably, and Maxwell believed it wouldn’t do him any good if he tried to scratch it. He’d tried sticking a tip of his finger inside once, and it burned for several hours, making him  _regret._

“What were you two talking about?” Cassandra asked as soon as they approached, and he ignored her completely, sharing one of his coldest glares with the glove.

“Don’t ask him, Seeker,” Varric answered for him. “He’s in the middle of his intense love-hate relationship.”

Cassandra groaned, returning to her food.

***

Something felt off as soon as the group returned to Haven, and it took little time to realize what exactly was happening. The village was almost empty: a lot of people must have moved somewhere while the search for Mother Giselle had been under way. Cassandra quickly took action, directing her steps to the chantry, and the others followed her closely. The more they approached, the better they could hear people arguing.

A big crowd had gathered at the entrance of the chantry and was surrounding two people that were obviously responsible for the entire thing. A templar and a mage on top of that, just what the Inquisition needed most right now.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” shouted one.

“Lies! Your kind let her die!” screamed the other.

 _Great, that’s the spirit,_  Maxwell thought gloomily.  _I wish you’d aim it into the right direction._

“What’s going on here?!” Cassandra thundered, placing her thin and yet strong hand on the hilt of her sword. Startled, both men stepped back instantly.

“There she goes,” Varric smiled.

“I demand an answer,  _NOW,_ ” the Seeker announced, and if Maxwell had thought he’d seen her angry before, he’d been terribly mistaken.

“This man, he… he was…” the templar stuttered, all the bravery of a cornered prey in his posture.

“It’s all his fault!” The mage found his voice, seeing his opponent falter. “He and his men are all guilty! They are poisoning this place- they are poisoning everything they touch! Why do you even keep templars here when the Chantry clearly told you that you’re worthless!”

Silence dawned upon Haven in one sharp, shocking strike. Even Varric stood speechless.

Cassandra’s face slowly filled with pure, overwhelming rage.

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH, MAGE!” the templar was caught in the overpowering emotion as well and bolted forward, ready to strike.

The Commander appeared between them in less than a second, grabbing the templar by his shoulder and stopping him effectively. The attacker jumped back, shocked, realizing what he had almost done.

“ENOUGH!” Cullen shouted, and while he looked more or less composed, the aura radiating from him was matching Cassandra’s perfectly. He threw a glare at the mage, making the man shudder visibly. “We are not templars any longer. We are  _all_  part of the Inquisition!”

“I… I just… I didn’t mean to…” the mage started, his voice shivering.

“And what does that mean exactly?” a new voice barged in, and the heated crowd fell back to let the intruder into the circle. Puzzled, Maxwell looked over his shoulder to see who else had enough guts to enter the scene and- Chancellor Roderick. The same man that wanted the Herald dead. Would have achieved his goal, too, if Cassandra hadn’t made her firm and doubtlessly timely decision.

 _"You_ ,” Maxwell whispered.

The Chancellor didn’t rush and was taking in the perfection of his interference as he dragged his smug feet towards Cullen. The Commander growled under his breath: it was as clear as day that this was the last person he wanted to see.

“Back already, Chancellor?” he growled. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Despite getting the plain coldness, the man smirked. “I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.” He ignored both questions and turned to the crowd, pretending to be addressing it to raise more doubts. Maxwell growled under his breath.

“Of course you are…” Cullen muttered, going unnoticed by the man he was talking to. He obviously grasped the Chancellor’s intentions and hurried to address the others loudly. “Back to your duties, all of you!”

The speed of the crowd melting away could only be described as unbelievable, but the Chancellor still looked very pleased with himself. He’d picked the right moment to try crushing the spirit of the Inquisition with his heel, and Maxwell wasn’t sure he ended up unsuccessful. The last thing the Inquisition needed was doubts, and there seemed to be a lot of doubt floating around now thanks to the whole deal in front of the chantry. The headquarters of the Inquisition. Witnessed by the whole village, no less.

Cassandra stormed past him, invisible fury evaporating from each movement of hers. Maxwell hoped she would say something, show the Chancellor he would regret doing things like this in the future- anything. But she walked past him as well, simply entered the chantry and closed the door behind her with a loud thud.

“That’s bad.” Varric sounded uneasy. “You don’t see her like that often.”

“I can imagine,” Maxwell nodded. “I feel like she’d kill me if I happened to cross her way.”

“She probably would,” the dwarf agreed.

“His poison will continue to spread.” Solas came to stand beside them, leaning on his staff with a cold expression. “Sometimes one voice is enough to crush the strongest of unities.”

“We don’t want that,” Maxwell scowled. “There has to be a way to deal with the Chancellor...”

He stepped towards the two men at the doors, having no distinct idea of what to say. Despite bearing the title of Andraste’s Herald, he still was no more than just a man, not to mention the possible murderer of the Divine. Maxwell wouldn’t be surprised if the Chancellor didn’t listen to him. But he wanted to change things, to soften the blow at least… somehow. He’d have to try.

“Ah, the honorable Herald of Andraste,” Chancellor Roderick greeted him mockingly. “And here we were talking about you and the _fine_ state the Inquisition has found itself in. We are very interested in your opi-”

“Drop it,” Maxwell cut him off coldly, quiet disgust feeding his self-confidence. “You know your words lack even the smallest resemblance to respect. I’m grateful for your attempt, though.”

The statement must have surprised the Chancellor as he lost his words for a while, giving Maxwell a perfect opportunity to continue with his line if he so desired. Maxwell, however, chose to end the conversation before he failed in this task.

“Commander,” he greeted Cullen instead. “I have an important matter I would like to discuss with you and the others, so we should gather immediately. I hope the Chancellor will excuse us, as we have to put off this conversation.” He glared at Roderick. “We’ve lost enough time here.”

“I believe the Chancellor has important duties of his own,” Cullen agreed sullenly and turned to the doors. “Have a good day.”

“By all means…” Varric added, letting out a rough chuckle.

They left the Chancellor outside along with his stunned expression and faint promises of unpleasant claims. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

***

It was decided that the most effective way to gain new allies for the Inquisition would be letting the clerics of Val Royeaux meet the Herald in person. Maxwell found himself leaving the chantry with a heavy feeling in his chest: he’d just arrived back to Haven, hadn’t seen his comfortable bed yet, or his doorstep for that matter, and he’d already have to leave at dawn. Not the Ambassador, not the agents – _he_.

 _It’s how it is now, and it’s not going to change any time soon,_  the man thought, crispy snow loud under his feet. _I will go to Val Royeaux, accompanied by a manly woman, a dwarf with chest hair and a bald elf._ _That’s going to make every cleric of Val Royeaux want to join us._

His forced laugh died quickly. Maxwell wanted out so much, again.

Val Royeaux was not only the capital of entire Orlais, it was also the capital of the Chantry. He would have to meet people that considered him the murderer of the Divine and would probably prefer dying to standing by his side. Without proper training, without any experience in the field of peace talking Maxwell would somehow have to convince them to join.

But what scared him most was knowledge that this meeting would attract the attention of his family. Maxwell’s father and elder brother were templars – in fact, all men of the Trevelyan family that were able to hold a sword had eventually accepted the title. Maxwell was the only one who’d rejected this fate, and the price was high: he’d lost the remains of family warmth his parents had shown towards him. He hadn’t received a single letter since the events at the Conclave and could only imagine what his family would think when they heard about the meeting.

“You do not need to worry this much.”

Looking up sharply, Maxwell found sister Leliana standing in front of him. He’d had no idea he’d been lingering next to her working tent all that time. The Spymaster was watching him with a calm smile on her face, eyes reflecting something he’d never seen in them before.

“How did you know?” he asked, then coughed nervously and added, “Besides the fact I’m just standing here without any particular reason.”

“You have that look…” she said, her rich orlesian accent smoothing the words. “I recognize that look.  _She_  used to wear it when she was feeling down.”

That was longing she felt, then. The Spymaster was missing someone. Someone she knew very well and treasured.

“She?” Maxwell asked.

Leliana looked away for a while, possibly deciding if she wanted to tell anything about  _her_  or not. Or maybe she was just reliving the events of her past. The expression on her face suggested the latter.

“We used to camp every night.” The smile on her face became a little sad. “And sometimes she would sit near the fire, looking exactly like you are right now. Those were difficult times. Even though she never admitted, I knew she was afraid of losing.”

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Maxwell tried.

“I would sit next to her and tell her one of my stories each time to cheer her up,” Leliana continued, his words going past her. “I’m happy we were able to end the Blight, but I… I really miss those days.”

The more Leliana talked about the Warden, the sadder the look on her face became. That made Maxwell remember his first day in the Inquisition, that time when he’d seen Varric and the Spymaster walking past his home together. He wanted to ask her what they had been talking about but was afraid that would only add to the damage. Besides, Maxwell was actually interested in hearing more about the Warden.

However, for some reason sister Leliana stopped talking at the same moment precisely. She cleared her throat awkwardly and smiled at the man. The smile looked warm, yet her eyes somehow didn’t.

“As I was saying, there is nothing to worry about,” the Spymaster said. “Our best agents will be following you secretly. Should something bad happen, they will do what they must to guide you back safely.”

“…thank you,” Maxwell said, a bit taken aback.

“You should go,” Leliana added. “I will be here if you need me.”

She bowed, cutting off any possible continuation, and walked swiftly into her tent. Maxwell sighed in defeat. Maybe he’d ask her about the Warden later when… whenever she’d trust him enough to share.

For now he was left with a small amount of freedom. The air would soon become colder, and the sun would hide behind the mountains, leaving the Breach to be the only source of light in the sky, but there was still enough time for Maxwell to try easing the tension in his bones.

An idea came to him instantly, and Maxwell directed his steps to the practice ground. He was almost positive he wouldn’t have to fight in Val Royeaux, yet he preferred to be ready for every outcome. Not to mention there were a lot of recruits who needed him as a teacher and enjoyed his company. And there was Cullen…

Except there wasn’t. Not yet, at least. A couple of templars were trying their best to teach the recruits while he was absent, but the whole scene lacked something rather important: confidence. What they all had witnessed at the doors of the chantry succeeded at making them uncertain, and the Commander wasn’t there to encourage them. However, as soon as people started spotting Maxwell, spirits gained a bit of height. When he approached, many greeted him, and some even smiled.

Maxwell didn’t lose any time on pointless pondering and dived straight into a tent to pick a weapon. He’d expected everything to be as it had been the first time - showing off until he attracted enough attention - but as soon as the man emerged back, he found everyone waiting for him.

What were they expecting him to do?

Gradually, after having fought its way through an oppressive wave of anticipant stares, an idea found him.

“Let’s make a tournament!” Maxwell announced loudly. “I’m sure the Commander wouldn’t mind, given that you have been practicing all day.”

The suggestion didn’t win support as immediately as he’d expected, and for a few seconds the man simply stood there, blinking at the crowd and feeling like a complete idiot. Fortunately, someone among the crowd managed to find his way out of stupor and let out an enthusiastic shout of approval that infected the others. Maxwell relaxed.

This kind of activity was something these men were able to understand and would definitely enjoy. He was also certain that a little game of friendly rivalry would erase doubts and return not only the recruits but also the templars to the state where they would not regret joining the Inquisition.

“One pair at a time!” Maxwell continued confidently. “Come on, let’s make a circle, give the participants space and cheer for them as much as you can!”

There was a mixed response of ‘yes!’ and ‘let’s do that!’ as the crowd made a big circle, and Maxwell picked the first pair. He stayed inside the circle with the templars to maintain the order and stop each fight as soon as someone dropped his weapon.

This idea of his turned out to be enormously successful as the mood lifted and lifted, and after some time people were cheering loudly as if nothing bad had ever happened. Chancellor Roderick’s poison was left behind and forgotten. Moreover, it was a good way of practicing at new heights - men fought not only to develop their skills, they fought to become victorious. They’d need that in real battles.

 _I should ask Cullen to allow such tournaments from time to time,_  Maxwell decided, watching the morale rise together with the general level of fighting skills. The recruits also seemed to admire him more and sought his approval with keen eagerness. They didn’t ask Maxwell to participate and never raised any complaints when the opponents were chosen- quite the opposite in fact, the recruits respected each other a lot. Whenever a participant lost his weapon, a winner would shake his hand or help him off the ground. Maxwell wasn’t the only one who liked seeing that – the remaining templars were wearing identical satisfied smiles.

Another pair was in the middle of fighting when someone took a careful, yet firm hold of Maxwell’s elbow. The man looked over his shoulder and saw the Commander standing behind him, a mixed expression on his face. Cullen appeared to be far from angry, but he looked like he needed an explanation. Or more like a confirmation.

“Did you organize that?” he asked.

“Yes,” Maxwell answered, returning his stare to the duel. “I thought it would be a nice distraction after what happened at the chantry. They looked miserable when I came here.”

The Commander must have lowered his head a bit closer to the man’s ear because his next words sounded a lot clearer.

“I can guess, I was there…” Cullen sighed. “That man… I don’t know what to do with him anymore.”

“With the Chancellor?” Maxwell took a second to ponder, failed to reach a conclusion and shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. But I think we have a cure for his poison here.”

“Yes. We have it,” the Commander agreed and fell silent, observing the fight.

 _Does this mean he likes it?_ Maxwell wondered.

_Yeah… I think, it does._

The fighting continued, men winning and losing and having lots of fun – in other words, the activity hadn’t changed. But something else had; at first the shift was scarcely perceptible, yet it grew stronger and stronger as time passed. Maxwell soon determined its source: the fur of the Commander’s overcoat kept tickling the back of his neck, making him fidget and desperate to scratch. Cullen was standing too close, and the man turned his head to ask him to move away a little.

“Could you please… uh…”

He trailed off.

“Yes?” The Commander tore his attention from the duel to look at him.

There was a pause. Maxwell struggled to let out the words he’d originally intended to say, but his mouth just wouldn’t listen and stayed half open, making him look utterly stupid. His brain disobeyed orders and stayed unnaturally quiet - the same thing had had a habit of happening during his childhood years whenever he sneaked out into the kitchen in dire need of sweets, and his parents or their old servants caught him red handed. This time, however, it didn’t work that way.

Thing was, he’d never seen such an expression on anyone before – one that would suggest he did a really good job at something. The Commander was watching him with curiosity in his eyes, but besides that there were a few other emotions. Like… appreciation. Admiration, perhaps.

_‘You came up with a brilliant idea. I’m proud of you. I’m thankful.’_

No one had ever given him that look before. Not even his parents.

Maxwell turned away real quick.

“It’s nothing. Sorry I bothered you,” he muttered. Cullen probably didn’t hear.

There was no movement beside him, indicating that the Commander was still looking. Maybe expecting an explanation- or worse, suspecting something. Maxwell twitched and turned back.

“I met Leliana earlier,” he attempted to change the subject, his voice pitch higher than usual. “We talked.”

“Did something happen?” Cullen asked.

“No, no,” Maxwell assured him, glad he came up with a sufficient distraction. “We just talked. About er… the Hero of Ferelden.”

The Commander leaned in again. Maxwell almost jumped on his spot, noticing the movement this time and not at all used to close proximity, but then he saw the uneasy look from before returning to Cullen’s face. It effectively pushed the man’s previously content expression aside.

“Did she tell you much?” the Commander asked, his voice barely audible behind the loud support of the crowd.

“No… Yeah- er… not really. Told me she used to cheer her up with all kind of stories when things were sad.”

“I see.” Cullen nodded. “I met her too, actually. The Warden.”

There was another pause.

“…you did?” Maxwell asked.

The Commander let out a shaky breath and rubbed his neck absently, smooth leather sliding against warm skin. The man seemed uneasy and reluctant all of a sudden, as if he regretted saying what he’d just said but had to continue anyway.

“Yes, twice,” he finally managed. “I wish we’d met… under different circumstances.”

_Wait. That doesn’t sound good._

“Where did it happen?” Maxwell pushed. The Commander groaned.

“You’ve heard about the Circle Tower of Ferelden, yes…?” he muttered.

The uneasiness between them was spreading rapidly, becoming more forceful and radiant. All the noise along with reality itself went into the background and buzzed there dully and almost absently as Maxwell placed the pieces together.

The Circle Tower of Ferelden.

Of course he knew. His sister died in there.

Maxwell rubbed at his eyelids and kept his hand there.

“The one that was overrun by abominations and demons? I’ve heard about it,” he said simply. “The Hero saved it, didn’t she.”

“She did,” Cullen agreed. There was a spark of warmth in his words, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I’d never expected she would be the one to save everyone…”

“You knew her before that, then.”

“Yes. We first met when she was living within those walls. When it was safe.”

“I see.”

At that point their conversation walked into a dead end, even though Maxwell thought he’d heard the Commander say something else. Gradually, he returned to observing the tournament, not really interested in it anymore.

They didn’t talk, and a few minutes later Maxwell stepped out of the circle and moved towards his home, hidden from eyes by the dark. Cullen didn’t follow, but Maxwell suspected that he noticed.

***

_So, he was there when it all happened. Why is it bothering me so much?_

Maxwell was lying on his bed, his lower half covered by the big coat and his eyes watching the ceiling. Not much time had passed since he’d left the recruits. It may have been a bad idea to escape the tournament he’d announced himself, but he supposed Cullen would take care of it. His mind wasn’t in a very good state, anyway. He would’ve been unable to handle things.

The Trevelyans weren’t exactly a happy family, and Maxwell hated his parents for destroying something he cherished with all his heart. There had been four children in the family once, him and his sister the youngest. They had also been the ones who rioted most, and that kind of behavior never left their parents pleased. They had been forgiven every time except one, one time that made them suffer for the rest of their lives.

His sister, Edolie, had been a few years older than him, and she had been a mage. A pure flower little Maxwell had followed everywhere like stars followed the night. So, naturally, when his father had announced she’d be moving to the Circle in Ostwick, the boy told him without hesitation he would be following her. Maxwell had been clingy and stubborn, and she’d been loving and devoted, so their parents decided to use their connections and sent her to Ferelden instead. He’d been decided to become a templar and stay in Ostwick.

It took a lot of time for Maxwell to realize that they had been teaching him a lesson. It had never been about his sister, it had been about the Chantry. His parents had always cared about the family status more than anything, and if they needed to sacrifice their mage daughter to make the other children see the futility of their desires, they would do so without any doubts. They may have loved her, in a way, but that love was too pathetic to be accepted by the primary needs of the family. And then his sister died, far from home, alone. The idea of becoming a templar became repulsive, something Maxwell would never go with.

Two years after her death the Trevelyans discovered that Maxwell’s older brother Oscar was a mage as well. The revelation was accidental, and his brother dropped to his knees right there in the yard and pleaded his parents to allow him to stay at home because he was too scared to go to the Circle. They called him unworthy and deceitful, throwing the fact he’d been hiding his secret all that time into his face. After that Oscar was moved to the Circle of Ostwick against his will and nearly died by the hands of infuriated templars. Their elder brother barely managed to save him. Maxwell wasn’t aware of what happened next.

He shook his head and turned to his side, drawing both legs closer to his chest.

His brothers were together somewhere, supported each other. He didn’t need to worry about them. His sister, though… He missed her, and there was no way he’d see her ever again.

There was a knock on his door.

“Really? At this time?” Maxwell asked the visitor, perfectly aware it would be impossible to hear him from outside.

Someone picked the wrong time to find him. Nevertheless, he was the Herald, and the Herald had to respect and fulfill his duties. Maxwell got up from the bed reluctantly, put on his coat and got to the door. He opened it and…

Well, he hadn’t expected to see the Commander so soon.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, clinging to the door. “Come on in.”

“No, I-” Cullen started and came to an abrupt halt. He looked away and after a moment resumed talking with a steadier voice. “I’m not going to keep you away from your bed for long. I just wanted to ask you about something.”

“Well... okay,” Maxwell nodded, suddenly feeling like a fish that jumped out of water and dived into prickly sand. “What is it?”

The Commander looked back at him. “It’s about what happened earlier.”

_Great. I would **love** to talk about this._

It was bad; the Commander had really noticed his strange behavior. Maxwell would have to explain it now, and he couldn’t, which meant he’d have to lie, and he didn’t want to. Not to his maybe first potential friend since forever.

“It’s nothing serious. I wasn’t feeling very good, so I decided to-”

“No matter what happened,” Cullen interrupted him instantly, “you don’t have to explain. I understand that you have your secrets. I have mine. They just happened to stumble upon each other.”

Maxwell gritted his teeth. Not even a minute had passed, and he was feeling vulnerable already. _I ran away and dropped the tournament on your shoulders, yeah. You saw through me, and now you came here to throw it back at me. I deserve it…_

In his overwhelming despair, Maxwell hadn’t even thought about how Cullen was feeling. He was the Herald of Andraste - a man who was supposed to take care of his people, and most importantly, of those who kept the Inquisition running. Great work.

“I’m sorry,” he said hesitantly. He was. He should have done better.

“It’s okay,” the Commander answered. “The tournament was a success. It kept the recruits happy and raised their battle skills, too. We should do it more often.”

“No, I wasn’t apologizing for that… though I should, and I will, starting now.” Maxwell fidgeted. He wasn’t used to this. “I’m sorry about leaving the tournament to you when I was the one to start it. I shouldn’t have run away and left you deal with it alone.”

“Accepted,” Cullen answered light-heartedly. Maxwell bit the inside of his cheek and glued his stare to the floor.

“The thing I apologized for earlier…” This one was more difficult to say out loud. “I’m sorry for leaving my work to you without thinking about you beforehand. I know I hit a sore spot back there, I just… I was way too obsessed with mine to think about it.”

“…accepted,” the Commander said, and Maxwell looked up. They eyed each other awkwardly for a while, neither of them talking. Then Cullen sighed, and a small smile appeared on his face.

“I wish it was daytime,” he said. “It’s so inconvenient to ask you to come practice with me.”

“Now?” Maxwell grinned, a warm feeling finding its way back to him. “I thought you didn’t want to keep me away from my bed for long.”

“Ah. That’s right…” the Commander muttered, slightly embarrassed. “I guess I’ll have to ask you when you return from Val Royeaux, then. Good night.”

He turned to leave.

“Commander,” Maxwell called. Cullen stopped mid step and looked over his shoulder. “Let me grab my boots.”

The day was officially saved.

***

The following morning started extremely violently when Cassandra opened the front door and let the cold wind in while Maxwell was still sound asleep.

“Wake up,” she said simply but loudly, standing at the doorstep and not even bothering to close the door.

Maxwell stirred lazily under the covers and moved them up and over his head. Sadly, that left his feet open, so in the end he still had to bring himself to a more or less conscious state.

“Close the door, please,” he groaned, moving to the edge of his bed. To his relief, Cassandra did as he asked without objecting.

It had been an exhausting evening, and Maxwell fell asleep as soon as he reached his bed. It couldn’t have been more than five or six hours since he’d done that: Maxwell’s inner clock was pretty sharp. He obviously failed at restoring his energy this time.

“Did something happen?” he asked, searching for his clothes below the bed. He really had to do something about that habit of his. And why was Cassandra watching him, anyway?

“We’re leaving soon,” the Seeker answered. “But before that you will need to speak with Josephine. She has an important matter to discuss with you.”

“Alright,” Maxwell agreed, his hand finally finding what he needed. “Did she tell you what that matter is?”

“Your family,” Cassandra answered, and he froze.

He supposed he should have been ready for that. Josephine was a very capable ambassador, so his origins had had no chance of staying hidden from her for long. She had to be thinking about asking him to find out if his family would care to join the Inquisition or help them in Val Royeaux. He’d do that himself on her place.

“I see,” the man said, straightening up. “I’ll talk to her as soon as possible. You can leave me now if there’s nothing else to talk about.”

The Seeker remained standing, and Maxwell looked up at her to see if maybe there really was something else. Turned out there was.

“The Commander told me about the tournament,” she said, folding her hands across her chest. “It was your idea.”

“It was,” he nodded, suddenly uptight. “Is there anything wrong with it?”

The Seeker shook her head.

“No,” she answered. “It was a good idea.”

Did he just walk into another dimension again, or was she praising him? Maxwell sat there, staring at her, and Cassandra tensed visibly, avoiding his eyes. At that moment he could bet she was thinking about escaping this place before he said something. Which, of course, made him very determined to do just that.

“You’re praising me,” he beamed.

“Maybe,” she answered, and his determination faltered.

Maxwell shouldn’t have pushed with his statement. He shouldn’t have done it because it just hit him right back. He hadn’t expected her to actually agree, not after being so cold to him almost all the time they’d known each other.

“I should check our supplies,” the Seeker said. “Come find me when you finish talking about your family.”

She turned to leave, her firm hand grabbing the door handle.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Maxwell said quietly, and the Seeker stopped for a second. Then she opened the door and exited, leaving him alone and confused.

***

The Chantry was mostly empty when Maxwell entered; he supposed it was still very early. As soon as he reached the door he was looking for, he heard muffled voices from inside. It would probably be good to knock first, but when the man raised his hand to do that, the door opened itself, and he saw sister Leliana on the doorstep. The Spymaster blinked, puzzled, and then smiled.

“Good morning,” she said. “Josephine is waiting for you.”

Maxwell nodded and was about to say something, but the woman was already moving away, her steps oddly stiff.

_This is weird. I wonder what’s happening._

But weird or no, Maxwell still needed to talk to Josephine, so he pushed his concern aside and entered the room. The Ambassador was sitting at her table, warm light from several candles falling onto her cheeks and the sleeves of her fancy dress. She was reading a paper.

“Good morning,” Maxwell greeted her in a pinched voice.

“Good morning,” the woman said, glancing up. Her face was serious, and Maxwell knew it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. “I’d like to discuss your parents.”

“I’m ready,” he lied. “What is it about them?”

Josephine put the paper aside.

“I’d like to dispatch a courier asking the Banns of House Trevelyan to align themselves with us,” she went straight to the matter. “What are your thoughts?”

It was rather difficult to read her expression, but Maxwell noticed something odd. It almost seemed like she was… waiting for his refusal.

 _Of course,_  he quickly realized.  _She isn’t stupid. She must’ve found out everything she could about my family by this time._

“Something tells me you already know my answer,” Maxwell said. There was no point in playing dumb. She knew.

“I suspect I do…” Josephine agreed. “But it is most important to have all the advantages we can gain. As the Ambassador of the Inquisition, I had to ask. I hope you are not offended.”

“I’m not.” That was understandable. “I will try to contact my family, if you think that will help. We’re not on the best of terms, and all they care about is their status. If we don’t have anything useful to offer them, they won’t listen… but I will try.”

“Thank you,” the woman sighed. “And… I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Maxwell said, his chest feeling too tight for his insides. “Can I go now, if there’s nothing else? We should be moving out to Val Royeaux soon. I’ll write on my way.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Have a safe journey.”

Maxwell bowed slightly and left the Ambassador’s chamber in a calm manner. However, as soon as he made sure the door behind him was closed, the remains of his calmness vanished. Maxwell dashed to the exit, desperate for fresh air, and nearly ran flat into the Commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support, it really helps.  
> Still don't have a beta, so I'm very sorry for my mistakes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some time to write this one. I'll try not to disappear from now on XD  
> __

Somewhere past dinner Maxwell found himself sitting on a stump, irritated, a slightly torn quill trapped between his fingers and a sheet of paper lying on his knee. It certainly wasn’t the most appropriate way of writing letters, especially if said letter was intended to be read by his father later, yet sadly, a cart full of options was nowhere near his sight today. Maxwell thought about using the stump as some sort of a table but quickly understood he’d have to lie down or bend in half to reach the paper. At least the surface of his armor was flat enough.

Thoughts were not coming. He’d expected that.

What could he write, anyway?

_Hello, father. I’m with the Inquisition now. They call me the Herald of Andraste._

“No way,” he muttered, rubbing his temple.

_Hello, father. I managed to survive the events at the Conclave. I couldn’t return to you right away because…_

“…because they arrested and almost killed me as I’d happened to fall out of a rift; they connected it to the death of the Divine, and oh, by the way, lots of people think it’s my fault the Breach is out there! So… how about joining the Inquisition?”

What was he supposed to say? His parents never sought him, they abandoned him right after the creation of the Breach – and Maxwell was pretty sure they were already perfectly aware of everything he was struggling to describe here on the paper. He’d still go right ahead, shut down his fear of rejection, swallow his pride and try to write a decent letter only to have it tossed away like a piece of rubbish.

 _But no,_ he told himself; before tossing the letter away his father would undoubtedly read it – such a greedy man wouldn’t risk getting rid of valuable information or possible allies. That meant Maxwell had a chance. Maybe, just maybe if he offered something really useful for the Trevelyan family, his father would listen. But what was it? What did his family need?

 _Certainly not the support of the Inquisition_ , he thought grimly. After all, the Inquisition was despised for keeping the “murderer of the Divine” alive. A person who’d been greatly important for the Chantry and deeply respected by his family.

Why was he doing this, again?

Oh, right. The Inquisition needed all the help it could get.

His fingers were cold and trembled almost at the point where it would be impossible to write. Feeling devastated, Maxwell lowered the quill and looked to the side in an attempt to calm down, observing the rest of the group. Cassandra was having a talk with one of sister Leliana’s agents, her arms folded across her chest tightly. Judging by the scowl on the Seeker’s face, the subject of their talk wasn’t very pleasant. Solas sat on a fallen log nearby, devouring some kind of unfamiliar white bread and looking happy all by himself, Varric to his left with a book in his hands and Bianca resting against his shoulder.

Maxwell was pretty sure that at some point they’d all noticed what he was trying to do, considering he’d been making attempts at it all the time. He didn’t know how to feel about that, however: he was grateful for not being disturbed while dealing with such a difficult matter, yet on the other hand Maxwell was starting to think he was in a serious need of help.

The agent bowed and turned away from Cassandra, throwing a quick glance at him as she retreated to the big dusty road. Maxwell nodded in return and brought his eyes back to the Seeker only to see her approaching. A brief thought of hiding the empty paper ran through his head, but he ignored it.

“It appears we have found ourselves a new ally, albeit weak at this moment,” Cassandra said, coming to a halt a couple of steps away. “A Grey Warden who goes by the name of Blackwall. He was brought to Haven a few days ago, severely injured.”

“What happened?” Maxwell asked, his problem temporarily forgotten.

“He was attacked in Hinterlands,” she answered. “Not much is known about his attackers, but from the heavy burns on his body it is assumed they were the rebel mages. Or demons, though no rifts were reported in that area.”

“I see… Well, let’s hope our healers will patch him up nicely.”

“That’s not the only thing,” the Seeker continued. “Apparently, there is a serious problem with the Grey Wardens. They seem to be… disappearing.”

Maxwell frowned. That sounded a little bit extreme.

“Disappearing? What, all of them?”

“Save one, whom we have almost lost,” Cassandra nodded. “We should address the matter immediately upon our return. It may be connected to the Breach. But even if it is not, we should not turn a blind eye to it.”

He nodded. The Grey Wardens certainly were weird people with all those sacred rituals and powers Maxwell had heard of; but they could stop Blights, which meant they were irreplaceable. Having them gone sounded like a lot of trouble. Add that to the Breach, with human forces greatly reduced…

He sighed.

“Wardens aside…” Cassandra swiftly pulled him out of his thoughts, “You need help with that letter.”

_Oh, right. The letter._

Maxwell dropped his head into his hands, defeated.

"I can’t do this on my own,” he admitted, his voice coming out a bit muffled. “It’s just… I don’t like them. They don’t like me. I have no idea what to say to them.”

“I may be able to help,” Cassandra offered, and he raised his eyes to look at her. She seemed somewhat uncomfortable, but confident nonetheless.

Maxwell nodded and quickly stood up, gesturing her to sit on the stump; no way he was letting her sit on dirty ground. Cassandra blinked, taken aback by this small and sudden instance of good manners, and a moment later her mouth twitched slightly, betraying a little smile. She sat down, hands pressed to her knees, and waited for Maxwell to settle beside her.

“We have to offer something useful for your family, I assume,” she said once he got ready to write.

“Yes. I don’t know what it is, to be honest,” Maxwell muttered, all attention locked on the irritatingly clean sheet. “As far as I know, they want the Inquisition gone more than anything.”

“Is that so.”

He raised his eyes from the paper, watching the Seeker’s perfectly calm face.                                                   

***

Val Royeaux turned out to be a much colder place than they’d expected. Starting from the open rejection of the Inquisition, it presented the templars with their suspiciously aggressive Lord Seeker. Having made fun of Maxwell and his companions, he looked down even on Cassandra, ignoring the fact that she was a Seeker as well. He didn’t try to understand the whole point of the Inquisition, and while showing his disdain for everything including Val Royeaux, he missed the cautious doubt his own men were showing. That told Maxwell a number of templars could actually be convinced, but to do that he’d have to pass the Lord Seeker first.

After a brief and very unpleasant talk the templars left, some of them looking back reluctantly, obviously feeling unsettled. Whole Val Royeaux was left speechless, rays of sun and cheerful chirping of birds making the entire situation look strangely ridiculous.

“I… Is he gone mad…?” Cassandra uttered in an unusually high voice, watching them go.

“A charming fellow…” Varric added awkwardly.

Maxwell stood quiet. He was struggling not to run after the Lord Seeker, because Maker knew what he would try to do, and if he’d try to do that, the Inquisition would probably need a new Herald, because there was no way he’d be able to take down a whole bunch of armored men, doubtful or not.

And that concluded their eventful and wonderful journey to Val Royeaux.

“Ga-a-ah!!”

Or maybe not.

Maxwell calmed himself down fast enough, his heart still beating unevenly from the sudden arrow that almost got his left foot. He’d thought someone was attacking them at first, but no arrows followed, and the one stuck between the stones of the road had something attached to it. He reached down and took the arrow out, ripping off a small piece of paper and unfolding it.

Someone had decided to brighten his day with vague instructions.

***

After spending the rest of the day wandering about Val Royeaux and brooding, Maxwell found another two allies for the Inquisition. Help was definitely coming with people he wouldn’t imagine want to join the Inquisition. The arrow that had almost hit him before belonged to Sera, an unpredictable and a bit unsettling elven girl who gave him a big pile of breeches as a meeting gift, laughing and adding that she’d taken them from the local guards while they weren’t looking. It took little time to understand what she meant when the moment was followed by a surprise attack of guardsmen with bare legs, all of them embarrassed but obligated to fulfill their duty. Sera seemed to have lots of fun attacking the exposed parts of her enemies, pointy ends going through soft skin of their thighs, making them bleed and spasm with pain. That was the moment Maxwell realized there was more to her cheerful behavior, and decided not to make her angry. Ever.

The other ally happened to be a mage, and a powerful one on top of that. Vivienne was also an authority, so Maxwell got to meet her at her party, to which Vivienne invited him herself. When Maxwell first saw her, he understood she was a woman of great taste and fashion, white silk looking perfect against her dark skin and moonlight falling on her exquisite mask, making her look not only breathtaking but also mysterious. She’d told him she wanted to join because she believed in the Inquisition and would be quite helpful to it, but he was somehow sure she had reasons beyond that. Maxwell wouldn’t want to make a mage such as her irritated though, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

He’d thought that would end his business in Val Royeaux, yet as they were leaving the next day, a woman called out to him. Maxwell had already had enough of the place, but he supposed he couldn’t just ignore people; he was the Herald after all. Turned out she was the Grand Enchanter and the leader of the mage rebellion. While willingly endangering her life, she’d sought Maxwell to offer the mages’ support against the Breach. A bold yet impressive move. Before Maxwell could think of an answer, she was gone, leaving him with an invitation to see her and her mages in Redcliffe.

It was unnerving to know that while the Inquisition had choices, there wasn’t any possibility to follow through with them all. From what Maxwell knew, the Inquisition had a chance with the mages, but since they were at war with the templars, siding with them would cross the latter off the list. On the other hand, trying to side with the templars wouldn’t make the mages happy. Maxwell thought he’d probably be able to convince pieces of both sides to join him, here and there, yet the Breach was growing, and he wouldn’t just have enough time to do that.

And then there were the missing Grey Wardens…

He sighed, leaving Val Royeaux behind.

The way back to Haven was uneventful, marred only by several attacks that were quickly repelled. Maxwell’s companions were so deadly and perceptive they got rid of problems almost as soon as they appeared; he didn’t even need to draw out his great sword at times. Everything stayed calm otherwise, and he even dozed off once, still sitting on his horse. Sera chose the same exact moment to pull a prank on him, which instantly cured his sleepy state.

Now that he had the letter off his back, all thanks to Cassandra, there was nothing for him to busy himself with, not before the meeting of the advisors anyway.

Speaking of which… He really missed the Commander. Others as well, certainly, but thinking about joining Cullen on the practice field made the day seem slightly brighter. Maxwell remembered the times they’d spent together, talking and behaving as if they’d known each other for years even if it wasn’t quite so. Last person he’d felt so easy around was his sister.

 _It would be great to have another tournament,_ he thought. But then Maxwell remembered he had no such luxury as time, and that he’d most likely have to leave the next day after his return. There was a thought lurking somewhere in his mind that told him he wouldn’t mind if the Commander joined him on his journey sometime. And why not? Maybe all he needed was to ask.

 _No, that’s a stupid thought,_ he quickly realized. If Cullen left Haven, who’d take care of it? He surely wouldn’t ask Cassandra to do it…

“Is something bothering you?” A voice asked, making him flinch. Maxwell looked up to see the Seeker riding beside him. Had she learned to read minds while he wasn’t looking?

“No, I’m just… tired,” he said. It was part of truth.

“I see,” she nodded. “We are almost there. You’ll have your free time after the meeting.”

Maxwell silently wondered if she really believed in what she’d just said.

Haven met them with open gates. Maxwell could already hear the familiar clatter and chatter from the practicing field and shifted in his saddle, eager to get off the horse and join the others. He couldn’t do that right now, though, not when he was needed among the advisors.

“We need to get going,” Cassandra voiced his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

After having their horses placed into the stable, the group divided: Cassandra, Maxwell and Vivienne headed straight to the chantry while the others dispersed to look around Haven. Maxwell suspected Vivienne would try to join them at the advisors’ meeting at first, but as soon as they entered the chantry she excused herself and simply went to choose a room to stay in.

Sister Leliana caught up with them a moment later and told them the Grey Warden was slowly but successfully recovering, and that any healing magic would be much appreciated. There were no mages in Haven besides Solas and Vivienne, to whom Maxwell promised to talk after the meeting. Leliana also tried to convince him and Cassandra that the matter of the disappearing Wardens was extremely important only to find out they had already taken that into account.

The Ambassador and the Commander joined them just outside the meeting room. Josephine looked composed and graceful as always, her light steps hardly reaching Maxwell’s ears. She was smiling, obviously happy to see them in one piece. Cullen, on the other hand, seemed slightly tired and had concern written all over his face. Maxwell caught himself watching the Commander, an uneasy feeling creeping inside and settling beside the happiness of seeing them all again.

“Welcome back,” Cullen said. “I’ve heard it was rough in Val Royeaux. It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

Even his voice sounded a little off.

“It was more than that,” Maxwell shook his head. He supposed he would ask later. “At least we know how to approach them now. Mages as well.”

“Lord Seeker is not the man I remember,” Cassandra said, frowning. “There must be something going on. Something we are not yet aware of.”

“True,” Leliana nodded her head in the direction of the heavy door. “Come, let us talk inside.”

It was colder than usual in the room. The candles on the table were unlit, making the map harder to read, and Josephine went ahead to light them.

“The Order was taken somewhere,” Leliana continued as soon as she made sure the door was closed. “My reports have been… very odd.”

“Odd how?” Maxwell asked, sitting down on the edge of the massive table.

“Odd like…” she fell silent for a moment. “The templars’ behavior is rather strange. Some reports say they even look different. A few agents also assume there might be someone besides the Lord Seeker controlling them, but alas, they lack solid proof.”

“We must look into it,” Cullen said, his voice steady and firm, yet it almost came out like an order. He didn’t notice. “I’m certain we will find templars who will support us.”

 _He’s nervous,_ Maxwell suspected, remembering their dialogue which happened when he’d first arrived to Haven. The templars were still important to the Commander even if he himself was a former one. Of course, there was no surprise he wanted to know what was going on, was there.

“I agree with that,” Cassandra added. “Even if there is something wrong happening, I am sure we can find support if we look hard enough.”

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead,” Josephine offered.

The Commander shook his head.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” He exclaimed.

Maxwell silently agreed with that statement; the mages they’d met on their way back here seemed as chaotic as ever.

“We do not know that,” the Ambassador objected. “We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are more powerful, Ambassador, that is true. But more desperate than you realize,” it looked like Cassandra was voting for the templars as well. That was hardly a surprise.

_Two for the templars. It doesn’t look like we’re confident yet, though._

As Maxwell was about to insert something, or maybe ask Leliana’s opinion on this, all eyes landed on him, making the task ten times more difficult. He gulped.

“What do _you_ think?” Cullen asked, looking him directly in the eye.

Maxwell wasn’t quite sure himself. He didn’t know what to expect from the templars, but he didn’t know what to expect from the mages, either. The mages seemed eager to join forces with the Inquisition, yet the Commander was right, ones he’d met before hardly knew the meaning of the word ‘unity’. Well, at least they were willing. He couldn’t say the same about the templars. But…

He glanced at Cassandra, who was watching him intently as well. Her face didn’t betray any emotions; still, Maxwell could guess from her previous words and the way she’d been trying to talk to the Lord Seeker back in Val Royeaux, that she was deeply concerned. He looked back at Cullen and saw the same feeling hiding behind that stare.

It was decided, then.

“I think we should try finding out what happened to the templars,” he said. Strangely, the words felt light to utter once he’d made the decision.

The Commander exhaled quietly, his relief almost visible. At least for Maxwell, it was. Cassandra nodded with a quiet ‘good’, looking a little bit happier as well.

“As you wish,” Josephine said, bowing slightly.

“Let us do that,” Leliana agreed. “We shall investigate their whereabouts immediately. I shall send agents to Redcliffe as well. It would be very unwise to not do so when we know where the mages are staying.”

Cassandra turned to leave.

“I think that was all we had to discuss. We will wait for the agents to return, then. Hopefully, we won’t have to wait too long.”

She walked up to Maxwell and landed her hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, and then left.

Maxwell was so taken aback he almost missed the Commander leaving. There were still things he wanted to talk about, and now was as good time as any. As he was opening his mouth to call out to Cullen, however, a voice interrupted him.

“A moment, if I may.” The Ambassador stepped beside him. Maxwell turned to look at her. “I wanted to know if the letter…”

“Is written and sent,” he answered even before she finished. “Not without help, but Cassandra is a real master. I don’t think anyone would want to reject such a letter.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. My apologies for asking you to do that…” she stopped talking for a moment, and then sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Maxwell smiled. “There’s nothing to worry about, Josephine.”

The Ambassador nodded.

“I should let you go, then,” she said. “It has been a long day, you must be very tired.”

“I am,” he agreed.

As she walked to the door, Maxwell looked up in an attempt to find Cullen, but the Commander was already gone.

***

At the end of the day Maxwell felt so worn out he hardly had enough strength to reach his own house. Both Vivienne and Solas agreed to help the Grey Warden recover, but they would need time to do that, so it wasn’t like Maxwell would be talking to him today. That meant now was his precious free time, and he was grateful.

 _Just… get some sleep,_ he thought, falling face down onto the bed.

He didn’t get to talk to the Commander, but he supposed the meeting ended well enough anyway. He’d have enough opportunities tomorrow.

As soon as his head touched the pillow, Maxwell shut down his thinking, cold sheets warming under his body and feeling nice and distracting. He didn’t have to support his own weight anymore and didn’t need to play the Herald because no one was there to see him.

The wind was blowing softly behind the walls, and Maxwell could hear muffled footsteps; all that background noise slowly lulled him to sleep. He closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to fade.

Then someone knocked on his door.

“Why…” Maxwell whined miserably after a moment of pointless rejection, gathering all his strength to get up.

He walked to the door and opened it, ready to use all his wits to make the intruder go away and wait for the next morning at least.

“Hello, Commander,” he said instead, all his irritation evaporating as soon as he saw who was visiting. “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t have to ask. Looking at Cullen would be enough to understand something was going on. The Commander didn’t even answer, only bit his lower lip and nodded, not meeting Maxwell’s eye.

“Alright, come in,” Maxwell offered, stepping away from the door.

Cullen walked in without much grace, slouching and looking like his armor was way too heavy for him to wear. He sat on a chair beside Maxwell’s writing desk and leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. Maxwell closed the door and sat on the carpet, looking up at him.

He’d seen the Commander not so long ago, and he seemed mostly fine, minor details aside. Now he looked like a completely different person. His skin was pale, shoulders hanging low and hair messy from the wind, which made him look extremely tired. Well, only one way to find out.

“Talk,” Maxwell said.

Cullen sighed, pressing his gloved hands together.

“I don’t really know how to start,” he muttered. “I wanted to thank you for choosing the templars, I guess. But… as much as I want to tell you it’s a good decision, I’m not sure I believe in it myself.”

Maxwell nodded. He wasn’t sure either, after all. The Commander’s primary motivation was his faith, and he must’ve reached the point where the weight of his doubts turned the scale so that he wasn’t confident about his views anymore.

“Truth is, I’m not sure the templars are any better than the mages,” Cullen admitted. “If I look back at what happened… if I look at what is happening _now_ … I don’t think I can believe that the Order is in any order, so to say.”

 _I figured_ , Maxwell thought. _You’re not the only one._

“It might sound selfish… heh, I’m sure it _will_ sound selfish… But I really want to make sure everything is okay there. That’s why I was insisting on trying to side with them,” he finally looked Maxwell in the face. “I thought that if the Inquisition considers itself… if _we_ consider ourselves capable of closing a gap in the sky, then maybe we have enough power to restore the order within the templar ranks.”

“I understand,” Maxwell said, although he expected there was more to it. He hoped there wasn’t.

But Cullen continued.

“I didn’t even _consider_ giving the mages a chance. And now I’m sitting here, and all I can think about is that I want to go there with you. I want to see for myself, want to do something. Not what I should be thinking about as a Commander who has a lot of innocent people to protect. And I…”

_There he goes._

“I’ve been… under some pressure lately,” Cullen said, his voice rougher than before. “And sometimes I find myself thinking that maybe I jumped too high when I agreed to become a...”

He fell silent, and that was it. Maxwell waited for him to continue, but the Commander didn’t seem to need or want to finish his last sentence. Okay, then.

“You’re wrong.”

Cullen blinked, confused.

“I’m wrong? But…”

“Cullen-” there was a brief pause as Maxwell realized that was the first time he actually called the Commander by his name. Cullen’s eyes widened a little, but he remained silent. “You’re thinking in the wrong direction,” he added.

“How is that the wrong direction?” The Commander asked, puzzled.

“It’s just wrong,” Maxwell pressed. “You’re good at what you’re doing, and I’m sure people trust you and believe in you. As do I, and you haven’t failed anyone yet. So how about we save this conversation for later? Because right now nothing is happening to make me think you’re a bad Commander.”

Cullen looked down at his hands again, locking his fingers together.

“You made the right decision. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help people you care about,” Maxwell continued. “Besides, you’re not the only one who wants to get to the bottom of this. Have some faith in me, okay? I’ll do my best to bring the templars to Haven. If I’m not able to, there’s no way I’ll be able to help closing the Breach, and I’m damn well planning to.”

There was a moment of silence between them. The wind outside got angrier, starting to wail loudly. Snow flew all around and crashed into a small window above Maxwell’s table, gathering and sliding down under its own weight.

“Thank you,” the Commander said, his voice lighter than before.

“Any time,” Maxwell nodded.

“I guess I should get going, it’s pretty late,” Cullen stood up. He was still slouching, but looked better than before. “I’m sorry you had to listen to all of this.”

“No, that’s okay,” Maxwell shook his head and smiled. “I’m the Herald, I have to help my people.”

“Yeah, well… I didn’t come to talk to the Herald,” the Commander said. “I came to a friend.”

_What did he just…_

Maxwell looked up sharply, and his eyes locked on Cullen’s face.

“And I hope you will come talk to yours sometime,” the Commander continued. “And by yours I mean me, because you’re not getting away with that rude action back at the chantry.”

“Rude action?”

“Yes. Remember the man you ran into? You could at least say hi.”

“But I don’t remember actually hitting you...”

“I do remember that, though.”

“And I told you I was sorry-”

“No, you didn’t. You just left me standing there, alone.”

“I’m sure I did-”

“You didn’t.”                                                                 

Maxwell snorted.

“Okay, I accept my defeat,” he said.

“I had a talk with the Ambassador after that, you know,” Cullen folded his arms across his chest. “Asked her what was wrong with you.”

“What did she say?” Maxwell suddenly felt nervous.

“She told me to ask you since she had no right to tell me anything without your consent,” the Commander answered. “That’s what I’m doing. Asking you to talk to me sometime. As a friend.”

He turned to leave, and Maxwell got off the floor to walk him to the door.

“When did we become friends?” he asked. “Don’t think I’m against it, I’m not. Just curious.”

“Well,” Cullen opened the door and stepped outside. Wind attacked him immediately, ruffling his short hair and clothes. “You called me by my name, yes? Wasn’t that the line?”

Maxwell thought about it for a moment. _I guess that’s right…_ he decided. But then another thought came into his head, and it clicked. _Hey wait a minute…_

“This doesn’t make any sense!” He announced. “You told me you came to talk to a friend, but how can it be so if we became friends _after_ you came here?”

“Don’t cling to my words,” Cullen chuckled, stepping back.

As he was going farther and farther away, Maxwell tried to frown. He failed.

Looked like he wasn’t the only one crossing lines today.

***

Agents came back on the following day. It was already late, and Maxwell was resting back at his house, slowly getting ready to sleep. The day had been amazingly rich: he’d been to the practicing field with Cullen, visited his companions (Blackwall was healing up nicely but still needed recovery sleep, so getting to know him would have to wait) and then went to the tavern with Varric, having a really great time. Until Sera pulled a prank on them both, that is. No harm was done, however, and they all laughed together in the end. Maxwell got to know the bard as well, so he exited the tavern with a few new songs added to his memory. Even the mark didn’t bother him that day, and he felt like he was a simple human being again.

Well, up to the moment when Cassandra came to his house without knocking and told him that they would be leaving the next morning. That ruined all Maxwell’s plans, but he wasn’t really sad about it. He’d promised Cullen to try and bring the templars to Haven, after all.

Cassandra wasn’t aware of the promise and probably took it as his eagerness to help, but it didn’t really matter because she’d needed that. When she left, she looked determined.

The next morning they departed to Therinfal Redoubt, a fortress that had been empty for a long time, but the templars picked it as their new home for some reason. Maxwell was supposed to lead a group of Orlesian nobles to their very doorstep: the advisors had decided that the Lord Seeker and his templars would agree to join the Inquisition upon seeing the authority standing behind it.

The Herald of Andraste would be their talking man, so he needed to be careful. And calm. The templars seemed to believe Andraste herself saved him from his death, so it was a chance worth trying. Maxwell really hoped he wouldn’t fail everyone.

Everything took an unexpected turn when they finally arrived, however; Maxwell learned that things had changed. Apparently, the Lord Seeker wished to see him in person first, whatever that meant. He didn’t understand why, but there weren’t many options ahead: Maxwell would have to meet the man to find the answers he was looking for.

It was raining when Maxwell reached the gates of Therinfal Redoubt, and he was nervous, even though Cassandra and Vivienne who were standing right behind him felt like the most solid defense he’d ever had in his life.

He breathed in and stepped through the gates.

First thing he saw was a lone, somehow familiar templar surrounded by a number of nobles that were quick enough to enter before him. The templar seemed bored and slightly irritated by all the attention he was getting, but as soon as his eyes landed on Maxwell, everything about him changed. He walked through the small crowd, dismissing endless offers and questions, and quickly approached the Herald.

“I’m the one who sent word to Cullen,” he said, stopping right in front of him. “He told me the Inquisition works to close this Breach in the Veil.”

Maxwell nodded. _That’s why we came here._

“I didn’t think you’d bring such a lofty company, though…” the templar added more quietly, cautious. The nobles still heard him, and some didn’t hold back and made a couple of poisonous jokes. They went ignored.

“This… promise of status has garnered interest from the Lord Seeker,” he continued, obviously determined to get to the bottom of the situation. “Beyond sense. The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until your friends arrive.”

“It is allowed,” Cassandra frowned. “But the goal should be to restore the templars to order.”

“Yes. And he has taken command. Permanently,” the templar finished. Then he sighed. “The Lord Seeker’s actions make no sense. He promised to restore the Order’s honor, but what are we doing here is just pointless waiting. Templars should know their duty!”

He sounded confident about his opinion, and Maxwell was quite surprised and very glad to hear this. He didn’t expect such words coming from a templar these days, but it was a good sign. Looked like there was a way to bring some templars back to Haven.

“A templar who remembers his responsibilities?” Vivienne noted as well. “I am reassured.”

Surprisingly, the templar didn’t even look away from Maxwell’s face. The whole thing seemed to bother him to no end.

“Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied knight will help the Inquisition seal the Breach,” he promised.

“I will try,” Maxwell agreed. “But I have to talk to him at first.”

The templar - Knight-Templar Barris, as he said his name and title were - led them to the courtyard. Before taking them to the Lord Seeker, however, he asked Maxwell to pass a small test - a request from the Lord himself. The test consisted of three standards; a rite, centered on people, the Maker and the Order. Maxwell was asked to choose them in a particular order, so that the Lord Seeker would understand what he considered to be of most importance.

Maxwell suspected he would be showing not only his but also the Inquisition’s interests, and he cautiously asked a smart question to understand if he was right. The Knight-Templar saw right through his question, though, and told Maxwell it was only his choice that mattered. The Lord Seeker had been fixated on him ever since the nobles arrived. That sounded weird, to put it lightly.

Without taking much time to think, Maxwell picked the people first, then the Order and lastly, the Maker. He supposed that the last standard represented the Chantry as well, but he wouldn’t choose otherwise even if that was the case.

After the test he and his companions were taken directly to the Lord Seeker’s chamber. Knight-Templar Barris stayed with them to make sure everything went as ordered.

That’s where things went south.

The Lord Seeker didn’t appear; instead, another man came. He was quickly recognized by Barris as Knight-Captain Denam. As the Knight-Captain got closer, the atmosphere changed, even though Maxwell couldn’t exactly point at what made it change.

“What is going on?” he asked, confused.

The man laughed.

“This is the grand alliance the Inquisition offers?”

His voice sounded dangerous. Maxwell looked to his side briefly, making sure everyone was standing at a safe distance. As he was doing it, sounds of fighting and screaming rose from the outside, making him jump. The nobles…

“The Lord Seeker had a plan, but the Herald ruined it by arriving with purpose. It sowed too much dissent,” the Knight-Captain said. Coming together with the terrifying noises from outside, his words made Barris uneasy as well.

“Knight-Captain, I must know what’s going on!” he demanded.

Whatever was wrong with that question, it made the Knight-Captain change from bad to worse in a split second. He turned to the Knight-Templar and hissed, his voice low and angry:

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!”

“Purge..?” Maxwell heard Cassandra’s voice from behind. “What does that mean?”

_Something bad is coming._

“Prepare yourself, my dear,” Vivienne warned him. “This is no longer a matter of a simple talk.”

The group only had a short moment to gather themselves before an attack followed. One of the nobles who’d been in the same room as them got an arrow to his face and fell first. Shocked, Maxwell got his great sword out and prepared to attack. He could hear Cassandra and Vivienne doing the same.

“Damn it,” he whispered. Now there was a big chance he would fail to keep his promise.

The fight was rough. Barris sided with them, thankfully, so the damage wasn’t that heavy, but Maxwell could only guess what was awaiting them outside. Knight-Captain Denam managed to survive this time, and they decided they’d take him to Haven later. There was no way he’d be able to even stand up in such a condition, and they needed all the information they could get.

Barris picked his keys and handed them to Maxwell.

“You should find the Lord Seeker and end this,” he said, his voice raspy and breath uneven. “Please, don’t kill the templars that won’t attack you. You will need them later.”

“Of course,” Maxwell promised.

What came next was a bloody massacre. The templars kept appearing from all gaps and cracks of the fortress, all of them furious and almost glowing. If Maxwell looked close enough, he could see red markings growing on their skin, something he found both horrible and somehow attractive. He decided he’d think about that unsettling fact later.

There also were the other templars, ones he spared: they looked scared, but attacked their own brothers nevertheless, helping the group advance as much as they could. Those he would be taking back to Haven once this was over. Back to Cullen.

It didn’t take much time to find the Lord Seeker. He was standing on top of the big stairway, facing a door with his back turned to Maxwell and the others. It wasn’t like he didn’t know they were coming, however, because as soon as they approached, he turned around to meet them.

Maxwell was about to confront him and end everything the Lord Seeker had started, but what came next was totally unexpected. Without losing any time, the Lord Seeker grabbed him and dragged him through the door he was previously looking at. Maxwell panicked from the sudden action and reached back to grab Cassandra’s hand, felt strong fingers clutch around his wrist, pulling him back, but as soon as he and the Lord Seeker crossed the doorstep, everything faded away.

***

When Maxwell came to his senses, he was lying face flat in dirt and grass.

“Wherever this grass came from...” he muttered, trying to get up.

As soon as Maxwell got to his feet, he understood that he was completely alone. Not only that, he wasn’t in Therinfal Redoubt anymore; the place seemed utterly unfamiliar. And strange. He seemed to be outside, judging from the grass under his feet and thick fog surrounding him, but it also looked like he was not, as there was no sky above his head, and pillars surrounded him, marking a straight way forward. Numerous torches glimmered dimly up ahead.

There wasn’t much choice: the way back was blocked by large stones. Maxwell went forward, slowly and cautiously, trying to calm himself down. He had never tried to teleport before – that’s what he assumed this was, teleporting – and he doubted he’d ever be able, considering his lack of magical abilities.

Or maybe this wasn’t teleportation. Wouldn’t the Lord Seeker teleport with him if that was the case?

 _Or maybe he did,_ Maxwell thought grimly. He did spend some time lying around unconscious, after all.

As he made his way further, the air changed. The change was almost imperceptible, then became more and more evident as he moved on. So strange, it was heavy, but breathing wasn’t at all difficult. The only thing Maxwell knew at that point was he didn’t like it one bit.

A moment later he noticed the glowing that was coming from underneath the ground he was walking on. Soft and buzzing, it made him feel frightened, and he wanted to escape. But he hadn’t seen any exits so far.

A couple of steps later he came to a halt. The fog crept away, showing Maxwell that no, he wasn’t completely alone. Lying all around him, there were corpses. Burning and deformed, they made a horrible picture that made Maxwell gasp and clutch the hilt of his sword.

That’s when he saw the Commander standing right in front of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this story, I had different plans for it. The events of this chapter were kind of unexpected for me, but I hope I’ll manage to handle this and not destroy the plot entirely.
> 
> Also, I think I’ll have to start adding warnings and tags from now on. We’ll see how it goes.
> 
> That’s all I wanted to say. Welcome back, and I hope you’ll enjoy the chapter. Thank you for staying with me.

Everything was quiet except for the soft buzzing that continued to come from below the ground along with dim puffs of light. The fog started to creep forward again, slowly, almost hiding the ugly corpses from Maxwell’s sight, but not quite doing so. It also seemed to have no intention of devouring the Commander just yet, as the man stood there, clearly visible in the light of several torches.

“Commander!” Maxwell called, letting go of his sword and quickly approaching, soft dirt clinging to the soles of his boots but hardly slowing him down.

Maxwell had absolutely no idea of how Cullen could have gotten in here, wherever this ‘here’ was. Last time he’d seen the Commander, he was staying behind in Haven, looking nervous but with a glint of trust in his eyes. And while Maxwell had no logical explanation for the man standing in front of him, Cullen seemed to be perfectly real.

He stopped a couple of steps away from the Commander and tried to pick a question to start with; there was a horde of them running through his head right now.

“Where are we?” he managed after a short moment.

The Commander moved his head slightly to the side. His face was unreadable no matter how Maxwell tried to recall the expressions he’d shown before to understand. Cullen looked calm and kind of… impassive. As if he was completely aware of what was going on and at the same time he wasn’t.

 _Or maybe he’s just an illusion after all_ , one of Maxwell’s thoughts noted helpfully, but as he was raising his hand to wave it through the man, Cullen blinked and answered with a question of his own:

“You can’t tell?”

There was a pause.

“What…? No, I can’t,” Maxwell breathed out. That was a response he hadn’t expected at all.

Cullen had to have noticed his uneasiness, not to mention the oddity of the entire situation. Why wasn’t he scared? Why wasn’t he even worried? They were surrounded by deformed and burning corpses, and he was just standing there as if nothing had happened.

“Are you… drugged or something?” Maxwell asked, his voice trembling slightly. “I can’t be the only one seeing this.”

“Seeing what?” the Commander answered, frowning. “And I am not drugged.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s what it looks like to me, and it’s kind of scary, you know? What about these guys?”

Maxwell raised his hand to point at the corpses so that Cullen would maybe finally notice them, but a voice cut in, making him freeze.

“Please, do not worry,” it said, and Maxwell turned his head to see the Ambassador standing right beside him. She wasn’t there a second ago, he was sure.

Which made him jump away in horror as soon as he realized that.

“Josephine! When did you get here?!”

She looked at him, her expression slightly puzzled.

“I have been here for some time,” the Ambassador answered. “Are you feeling okay?”

_What? Why aren’t they aware of our surroundings?_

“No, I’m not feeling okay!” Maxwell almost shouted, his patience finally coming apart under frustration. “How can I be okay when there are corpses lying all around us and you’re not even noticing!”

He’d thought the advisors would care to take a look around now, but they only shared a glance and stared back at him.

“Corpses?” Josephine repeated, looking confused.

“These are our enemies, don’t you remember?” Cullen asked, narrowing his eyes.

“What?”

Maxwell felt his mouth hang open. He couldn’t remember killing anyone in such a manner. That aside, burning he could understand, since Vivienne had come to Therinfal Redoubt with him. But deforming? That was nothing he or his companions would ever do. That’s what he thought at least. And he didn’t remember bringing Cullen or Josephine along.

Or was he forgetting something?

“What enemies…?” Maxwell asked slowly.

“The mages!” Josephine answered, stepping forward. She tried to place her hand on Maxwell’s shoulder, but he flinched and avoided the contact. The Ambassador’s hand froze, and she looked slightly hurt by his action.

“We closed the Breach an hour ago,” the Commander said, his glance sliding from Josephine’s hand to Maxwell’s face again. He didn’t look like he approved of what he’d just seen. “I’d never thought you would forget about it so easily.”

“What?!” Maxwell gasped. “There’s no way I’d forget about _that_!”

There were corpses lying around him, alright. Maxwell had even considered accepting a memory loss, leaving out the fact that he could clearly remember standing in front of the Lord Seeker just several minutes ago. But closing the Breach itself and forgetting about it? _Right after_ doing it? That was beyond Maxwell’s understanding. There was no way anyone would forget something as important as that.

“If you don’t believe me, I can show it to you,” Cullen stepped aside and nodded in the direction of a door that was hardly visible through the fog. But it was there, right behind the Commander. “It’s just beyond this door. Open it and see for yourself. The sky is healed.”

Maxwell gulped, his eyes locking on the door. If the Commander was right (and Maxwell preferred to trust him up to this very moment), it would mean he had really forgotten. He didn’t know how to feel about that… No, it wasn’t that. He doubted he would _believe_ even if he saw the Breach gone. But Maxwell supposed checking wouldn’t do any harm.

“Alright.”

He made a step, and his left hand jerked suddenly, the familiar itching pain piercing through it. That made him stop on his tracks. Both Cullen and Josephine shifted, looking cautious and somehow angry.

“Wait!” they both exclaimed in perfect sync, but Maxwell had already lowered his head to look at his hand. The mark was burning as bright as ever.

Maxwell held his breath as the last thread of understanding left him.

“You lied,” he said quietly. “The Breach is still out there. There is no way I’d still have this thing if it was gone.”

Silence was all the answer Maxwell got, so he continued, his voice unchanging:

“I have no idea what is going on here, but I want it gone. Right now, you hear me? I want to understand what’s happening. Don’t lie to me anymore.”

When there was no response again, he raised his head to look at the advisors, and what he saw made him freeze for a moment. Cullen and Josephine were still there, but it seemed like they were hypnotized: both stood perfectly still, looking somewhere past Maxwell. The door behind them opened by itself without a sound.

Maxwell couldn’t help following their gazes, but all he saw behind him were stones and a thick wall of fog. Not even the corpses were visible anymore.

He hardly knew what to do now. On one hand he could just walk past the advisors, see what’s behind the door. From where Maxwell was standing, he could only see a piece of the same road he’d already covered. On the other hand he wasn’t sure about leaving Cullen and Josephine here. As far as he knew, they both could’ve been brainwashed and teleported here; Haven was no fortress, after all. If they were real, he’d be leaving them behind to an unknown but probably horrible outcome. Maxwell couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Troublesome,” a voice snorted.

He was hardly surprised when Leliana came through the door he was looking at while being absorbed by his internal struggle. Despite the other two advisors clearly staying under someone’s command, she seemed to be independent.

“Sister Leliana,” Maxwell said, watching her cautiously. “What is going on here?”

She smiled silently, her smile so terrifying it almost made Maxwell reach to his sword again. He refrained from doing so as no one had tried to attack him just yet; there was no need to make things ugly. And that was just sister Leliana pacing in front of him, why would he want to attack her?

“Everything tells me about you.”

“What?” Maxwell blinked as she came to stand between the Commander and the Ambassador. He hadn’t been paying enough attention.

“So will this,” Leliana added. “Watch.”

He didn’t need a lot of time to understand what was happening when she took out a knife and stepped behind the Commander.

_Wait…_

“Wooooah-w-wo-wo-ait! Wait!” Maxwell’s hands shot up as he tried to make Leliana halt for just a second. This was really getting out of hand, he didn’t want Cullen dead! “Listen, I know that you’re serious and all, but this? This, heh, this is a really, _really_ bad plan! You don’t want it, okay? Just… just put the knife down…”

He made a single tiny step forward. Leliana hissed, swiftly bringing the knife up to the Commander’s neck.

“Watch,” she repeated, and pressed.

“WAIT! NO!” Maxwell screamed in horror, dashing towards the two.

He knew the speed of his feet wouldn’t be quick enough to reach them in time. But Maxwell still ran as if someone had ordered him to do so. His eyes were locked on sister Leliana’s as the blade cut easily through the Commander’s throat.

It happened so fast, but at the same time so slow. Maxwell watched, terrified, as the cut widened, blood spilling out on the Commander’s clothes and forward on dirty ground. Cullen’s face remained calm; he didn’t realize what was happening.

“Wait! No!” Leliana copied Maxwell’s words mockingly, giving Cullen’s back a soft push. The man fell forward and right into Maxwell’s arms as he caught him mid fall. Maxwell’s knees gave out under the weight of both the body and his own sorrow; he sank down to the ground together with the Commander. Blood was leaking out without stopping, and even though Maxwell knew he wouldn’t be able to help at this point, he still pressed his hand to the cut, his fingers quickly becoming red and sticky.

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker,” someone was saying from above, but he wasn’t listening. The blood on his trembling hand, dirty clothes and pieces of armor, Cullen’s unmoving face and the cold surface of the Commander’s overcoat was all he noticed.

The image cut through his eyes right into his brain, imprinting the picture on his very soul.

***

Everything was quiet, not even the buzzing noise flowing around this time. Maxwell slowly opened his eyes and saw a stony ceiling looming over him.

He lay there for a second and then jerked up with a gasp, remembering. He was no longer holding the Commander in his arms, nor was his hand covered in blood. Taking in his surroundings ended up requiring quite some time as his mind was busy trying to figure out what had happened. The last thing Maxwell remembered was the feeling of Cullen’s hair tickling his cheek as he pressed the man to his chest. He was pretty sure nothing happened after that.

But there was no blood on his hand or clothes now…

_Where did it go? What’s going on?_

Maxwell looked around. That wasn’t the place he’d been in before: no grass, dirt or pillars were present anymore. He was sitting on the floor of a poorly furnished room instead, dull light from a single lantern flickering in his sight. Actually, Maxwell was pretty sure this was a room of the chantry back in Haven, however he had absolutely no idea of how he could end up being here of all places. He stood up and picked up the lantern, spotting the lonely door in the far end of the room.

Whatever was happening right now, all that mattered was finding out if the Commander was really dead. The whole thing looked like someone’s cruel joke.

 _It’d better be_ , Maxwell thought angrily. The realization that it would possibly mean he was in deep trouble didn’t bother him at all.

_“Wait…”_

As he was reaching out to grab the door handle, he heard a voice. It was unknown, but at the same time he somehow recognized it.

“Hello?” Maxwell asked, turning back. He was pretty sure the voice came from the same room he stood in, but there was no one there besides him.

 _“You…… careful……..”_ The words sounded strangely muffled, and it took a lot of effort to distinguish them. _“….. knows……”_

“What?” Maxwell came to the single wardrobe that was in the room and opened it. He found nothing inside.

 _“……..almost accepted……”_ The source of the voice seemed to be right behind him now, making Maxwell turn around quickly. As soon as he did that, he saw a small shifting cloud hovering above the wooden table, barely visible. However, when Maxwell tried to approach it, the cloud vanished. No words came after that.

 _Well, this is strange,_ he thought, not even sure of how to react anymore.

It looked like someone was… warning him, maybe? That seemed most accurate, considering what he’d just heard. And although Maxwell didn’t hear a lot of words, all of them made him feel suspicious and uneasy. Not to mention he’d never thought they had ghosts in Haven. And why was he in Haven, anyway?

As much as Maxwell was interested in finding out, those thoughts didn’t linger for long. When he was approaching the door, there was another voice, more clear and familiar this time.

“I’ll be waiting in the meeting room,” it said right from beyond the door, and Maxwell felt his heart rate increase.

It was the Commander. He was alive.

Cruel jokes or not, his mind wasn’t listening. Maxwell dashed out of the room right in time to see a piece of Cullen’s overcoat disappear behind the big wooden door. The sound of his steps coming back to his ears in loud thuds, Maxwell ran to the door and opened it. As soon as the gap was big enough, he hopped inside.

It was light and warm in there. The Commander was standing at the war table alone, his hands pressed to the wooden surface. As he looked up from the maps, Maxwell saw no cut on his throat. Cullen was looking healthy, his eyes bright and posture confident.  Everything was perfectly fine.

“I… I can’t believe it…” Maxwell managed to say, his voice hoarse. “You’re alive…”

“Should I be dead?” the Commander smiled, but a moment later his smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Wait, did you have a nightmare again?”

Maxwell blinked.

“A nightmare?”

“Yes, one of your usual ones,” Cullen nodded. He straightened up and went around the table, approaching. “You told me they feel so real it’s difficult to tell them apart from reality sometimes.”

There was a moment of silence.

 “…I don’t understand,” Maxwell said slowly then, pressing his hand to his forehead. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

“Well, how about sharing your thoughts?” the Commander asked, coming to a halt a step away. “It’s not like I have to do anything just yet.”

“Yeah, okay…” Maxwell noddedconfusedly, trying to gather his thoughts. “It started with… uh…”

He bit his lip and stood there for some time, wordless.

Maxwell didn’t understand it right away, but he couldn’t remember. What happened before Cullen’s death, he couldn’t remember any of it. There were other bits and pieces of his memory resting right in front of his eyes though: going to a tavern with Varric, learning new songs there. Then a good hot meal and a couple of card games he’d won by miracle. Then there was practicing with the Commander… Then the episode at that strange inside-outside place. Nothing beyond that.

“Well?” Cullen asked.

“I guess…” Maxwell fell quiet for a second, unsure of what to think. “I guess, I fell asleep in a room next door.”

 _I did?_ He asked himself because something seemed wrong with it, but he couldn’t point out the reason.

The Commander nodded, listening to him closely.

“In my dream I turned up in some kind of a cave, and there were corpses all around me. Burning, deformed.” The details were surfacing in Maxwell’s memory as he went on. “You were there- you and Josephine. And you lied to me.”

“About what?” the Commander asked.

“About closing the Breach,” Maxwell raised his hand to look at his mark. It glowed calmly. “It’s still there, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Cullen confirmed, his eyes lingering on the mark as well. “What happened next? Did you kill me for that? For lying to you?”

“What? No!” Maxwell looked up, feeling a little offended. “It wasn’t me, I wouldn’t do that!”

But internally he supposed the Commander had a point. He’d seen nightmares, after all, and sometimes it was impossible to control his own actions. It wouldn’t be a big surprise if he killed someone without really meaning it. But this time…

“It was Leliana,” he said a moment later, quietly. The picture came crystal clear in his mind. “She cut your throat.”

“Oh,” was all the Commander said.

Silence dawned upon them once more for quite a long time. Maxwell pressed both hands to his face, trying to gather his thoughts and make the memory of his friend’s dead face go away. It was such a vivid picture… actually, it was the only thing he could clearly remember now, as if someone was forcing it to stay and torture Maxwell until he broke down. He shuddered, and it was probably visible, because next thing he knew he was pressing face into the Commander’s neck, soft fur of his overcoat feeling nice and tickling. Cullen’s skin was warm, his arms tight and secure, and Maxwell found himself hesitant to pull away. He didn’t bother asking about the reason, the horrible memory still lingering within him and making him shiver.

“I’m alive,” the Commander whispered.

“Yes,” Maxwell nodded, grateful, raising his hands to feel him. Cullen’s hair was soft as he touched it, let his fingers run through with a small sigh of content. “My dear friend…”

“Friend,” the Commander repeated, his embrace becoming stronger. “I could even be more.”

A second passed, and Maxwell blinked. Every coherent thought left him at once.

“What?” he asked, completely dumbfounded.

“I could be more than a friend,” the Commander said. “You just need to say it…”

“…what??”

_What?!_

Maxwell suddenly tensed, his hands coming to press against Cullen’s chest in an attempt to push him away.

“Whoa, wait-wait-wait…” he started, nervous. “It’s not like that!”

“But it is,” the Commander objected, his arms still locked tight around Maxwell, although his voice changed to slightly disappointed. “It can’t be a mistake, I feel it in you!”

“What!” Maxwell kept pushing him off, his chest heaving fast with erratic breaths. “I’m not like that! Listen, I… Will you let go of me already! It’s all very sudden, I need to think! Give me a moment to think!”

The words came out of Maxwell’s mouth without stopping as his mind tried to keep up with the information he’d just received. He had no idea where the whole confessing thing came from, couldn’t see the reason beyond it. Or maybe he could, but it all had been so out of blue he was completely taken aback. He’d never been in a situation like this. He needed time.

Cullen didn’t look like he was about to let him go, though, as the Commander still held him close. His arms, having been the most comforting thing a moment ago, now felt like shackles.

“Tell me what you think,” he was whispering right into Maxwell’s ear. And this time there was something odd about his voice. “Tell me what you feel…”

Something suddenly felt very wrong.

“Tell me what you see…” came the last order from Cullen’s mouth, and Maxwell opened his eyes and saw.

They were still embracing, but that was so much different from before. Cullen was changing, his body shifting and becoming less and less recognizable, the colors of his clothes muting and leaking toward Maxwell’s body. Horrified, Maxwell tried to pull his hands away from the Commander’s chest, but he couldn’t. It felt like they were glued, never to come apart.

“What’s going on?!” Maxwell all but screamed, struggling to escape; yet his efforts were in vain. His body was feeling strange in a really bad way: Maxwell could feel something getting inside right through his armor, clothes and skin, touching his entire being, making him fear for his life.

He and the Commander… they were merging?

“Get off me!” Maxwell tried desperately, his breath rapidly coming out. It didn’t do much, however, no matter how badly he desired it to work.

“The Elder one will come,” Cullen rasped, his voice not resembling itself at all.

As the Commander’s body lost its form almost completely, Maxwell noticed out of the corner of his eye that something was moving quickly towards them. All hope gathered in the last movement, he tried to pull both him and the leaking mass towards that movement.

 _“You can’t do this!”_ a voice exclaimed. Maxwell could swear he’d heard it somewhere before.

 _Right... In the room where I woke up…_ he remembered as the mass that was clinging to him pressed forward and screamed in an inhuman voice.

***

Maxwell stirred. Or tried to do so at least, but his body wouldn’t listen. His limbs were too heavy to lift, fingers only bending slightly if he tried hard enough. Opening his eyes was something beyond his strength as well, though Maxwell wouldn’t say he wanted to, anyway. The last two times he’d done that, everything went south really fast, so why would he even bother?

There was a sound.

“Idn’twnt...” he muttered, trying to wave his hand to make his intention clear. Predictably, it didn’t obey.

 _“No, you have to wake up,”_ the voice from before said. It sounded so clear as if it was coming from Maxwell’s own head. _“Open your eyes.”_

“Wh…wld I wnt to….”

 _“Please, you have to do it,”_ the voice pressed.

There was another sound. Then it was followed by yet another one. And then it became constant. A sound of hooves repeatedly hitting the ground.

 _Horses… too loud,_ a thought surfaced.

 _Just kill them if they bother you,_ came another one.

Maxwell stirred again, almost unconsciously, his fingers grasping something cold and solid. He squeezed the object, not really able to do anything else at the moment.

 _“No, don’t listen to it,”_ the voice sounded urgent now. _“You shouldn’t listen to it. Open your eyes.”_

 _Right…_ _He tried to help me before,_ Maxwell recalled vaguely. _Maybe_ _I should try doing as he says._

 _No, you shouldn’t,_ he thought a second later.

_What?_

_“Don’t try thinking now, just open your eyes,”_ the voice said. _“I will be here. With you. But you have to wake up.”_

_No. You don’t have to do it._

Maxwell groaned and focused all his strength to lock his thoughts out. He breathed in, and his eyes opened slowly only to be shut again under a blinding light.

“Ughhh…”

He tried opening his eyes again a few seconds later, and it went a lot smoother than before, although the light was still kind of menacing. Maxwell found himself lying chest down on something moving, which, combined with the steady sound of hooves crashing against the ground, told him it was probably a horse. It led him to wondering exactly why was he riding like this, and then it all just clicked.

 _Therinfal Redoubt,_ he remembered. _I met the Lord Seeker, and then…_

His memories were fuzzy, though Maxwell could still recall some of it. Especially the things that got him horrified. Cullen’s death. The merging thing- if that was even merging. And then, of course, there was the voice.

Which wasn’t talking anymore.

That aside, he still had to understand what was going on right now. It was possible that the owner of the voice had managed to get him out of wherever he was, but Maxwell couldn’t relax just yet. Even if he was really free of his nightmares, this horse could still belong to an enemy, so he had to be careful.

Despite having light pouring right into his eyes, Maxwell quickly found out it was coming from a lamp that was attached to the saddle of his horse and thus was hanging right under his head. If he didn’t look down much, his eyes were safe. The sky itself was dark if he didn’t take the Breach into account. The air was fresh and smelled like forest.

“He’s awake!” someone exclaimed, making Maxwell wince and freeze with his eyes shut.

“I wouldn’t recommend any quick movements, my dear,” came Vivienne’s voice from beside him. “You hit your head quite hard.”

 _Oh, thank the Maker,_ Maxwell thought, relaxing.

“He’s awake?” Cassandra asked from somewhere close. A moment later she appeared in Maxwell’s view, bending to look directly into his face. “You’re awake!”

She sounded and looked relieved, he could swear.

“Hold!” Cassandra ordered loudly, straightening up. “We shall camp here.”

She hopped off her horse, her movement followed by what sounded like at least a small army. The Seeker then removed the lantern from Maxwell’s horse and re-attached it to her own. Maxwell was enormously grateful for having the annoying light gone.

“How many templars made it out?” he asked, trying at least to sit. His body was obeying him now, even though it took some effort.

“More than expected,” Cassandra answered, nodding to the side but still watching him. “I am surprised that you’re asking about that first even though you left the fortress unconscious.”

Maxwell looked around. The number of the templars was nowhere near an army, but there still were many of them around. Looking tired but relaxed, they wandered about, some picking dry branches for a bonfire and others handling horses and food supplies. Maxwell recognized Knight-Templar Barris in one of them: the man was standing next to a horse that seemed to carry someone still unconscious. Unlike Maxwell, that someone was tied up.

 _Knight-Captain Denam,_ he suspected. Maxwell vaguely remembered deciding to take the man back to Haven for a trial.

“It’s over then,” he said, moving to get off his horse. Cassandra stepped aside to give him some space.

“Yes, we are heading back to Haven,” she nodded. “Right now you probably need to eat. It has been a very long day.”

“That too,” Maxwell agreed. “And I would appreciate it if you told me what happened. I can’t remember a thing.”

“You might want to listen to me as well, my dear,” Vivienne said. A templar approached and silently helped the woman off the horse. Vivienne dismissed him with a polite ‘thank you’ and approached Maxwell gracefully.

“Of course,” Maxwell said, noting without any surprise that Vivienne was behaving like she was standing in the middle of some rich palace rather than a dark forest. Moreover, it didn’t make her look stupid. It felt like said dark forest was blooming all around her instead.

“Let us go then,” Cassandra turned to lead them to the food supplies.

Maxwell tried a step, his feet slightly wobbly. Not too heavy, thankfully, so a few minutes later he was already devouring a nicely cooked, crispy fish with bread and vegetables. The general mood went up since he had awoken, and many templars showed their gratitude here and there: letting him grab a bigger fish, or sit closer to the fire or on the most comfortable place. They were polite and friendly despite having had a brotherly massacre not even a day ago.

It turned out when Maxwell had been captured by the Lord Seeker, they both fell to the ground, Cassandra following them as she tried to help Maxwell stay upright by catching his wrist. The fall was awfully unfortunate for the Herald since his head suffered some damage from hitting the floor, and it was assumed the fall had become the reason of his unconscious state.

The thing that puzzled everyone was the Lord Seeker’s body. As soon as they reached the floor, it simply disappeared. That was why Maxwell’s head hit the floor, knocking him out.

“I may know something about this little mystery, my dear,” Vivienne said as soon as Cassandra finished her part of the story. “But you will have to tell me if anything peculiar had happened while you were not among us.”

Maxwell scratched his head. He hadn’t really felt any pain yet; he supposed Vivienne took care of that. Still, he didn’t know her very well, and telling her about the core of what he’d seen wasn’t so appealing. Maybe telling brief details would do.

“I had two nightmares,” Maxwell said after a moment of thinking. “Something about betrayal and death. I can’t remember it clearly, sorry about that.”

He wasn’t lying. Only several details were plain and bright in his memory. That wasn’t rare when it came to dreams, was it?

People around him went tense, though. Especially Vivienne, who frowned and lowered her plate, placing it beside her.

“Was there anyone who tried to,” she fell quiet for a second, choosing the words, “to make you think you were in a better place, or safe, perhaps?”

“Maybe…” Maxwell answered, not exactly comfortable anymore. “Several people, I think.”

“Was there anyone you know?” Cassandra asked a bit nervously. He didn’t like that one bit.

“Yes,” Maxwell said. “Our advisors. All three of them, if I remember correctly.”

“I see,” Vivienne brought her hands together, lacing her fingers. “My dear, how much do you know about demonic possession?”

“Demonic possession?” Maxwell repeated right back.

“It would appear so,” she nodded calmly. “The Lord Seeker disappeared into thin air. I highly doubt the templars have such an ability. And your ‘nightmares’ had a remarkably convenient timing.”

“Now that I think about it, she may be right,” the Seeker added. “You might have entered the Fade upon hitting your head. Not to mention that would explain the Lord Seeker’s behavior…”

“Are you saying I’m possessed?” Maxwell interrupted, the memory of the voice coming to him in a flash. The owner of that voice didn’t seem that bad… on the other hand, the brief internal debate Maxwell had with himself back there did.

“…no, I do not think so, my dear,” Vivienne shook her head, then took the plate in her hands again. The food was getting cold. “But I am almost certain that you encountered a demon. As to what happened to it - that is still to be learned.”

“You defeated it, I take it?” Cassandra asked, not sounding sure. “It just vanished, and you don’t look like a possessed man.”

“Actually, I think someone helped me,” Maxwell admitted hesitantly. “He told me to wake up, and I did.”

“A friendly spirit helping someone defeat a demon?” Vivienne looked at him, doubt evident on her face. “That is not very common, my dear.”

“Well, it still worked,” he shrugged. “I’m here, and I feel fine… mostly.”

No one seemed to have anything to add to that, so Maxwell returned to his plate.

In the end he decided not to mention the little problem he’d stumbled upon before waking up. He hadn’t heard any voices since he’d opened his eyes anyway, and his thoughts were his own, so maybe it all had been just a part of the last dream.

On the other side… a demonic possession sounded horrible. And if that was the case, he’d be making a huge mistake, keeping everything to himself. If all it took to get to the Fade was being unconscious, Maxwell would be in danger the next time he simply went to sleep.

 _Damn it, I wish Solas was here… I hardly know what Fade is,_ he thought, deeply regretting not taking the elf along. Last time Maxwell got into a scary and unknown situation, Solas was there with all his wisdom, the only one who was actually able to help. Not just that, he was the one who calmed Maxwell down and taught him to understand the nature of his mark.

 _I should come talk to him as soon as possible,_ Maxwell decided. Somehow, he felt lighter after that.

***

The moment when they finally arrived to Haven was memorable. Gates wide open, their home accepted new people, and new hope along with them. The advisors came out together with the villagers to greet the templars, and the Commander even went ahead and gave some of them a firm brotherly hug, grinning happily. Maxwell would probably never forget the expression Cullen wore when the Commander looked up at him.

“Such a sweet family reunion,” Varric chuckled, approaching the Herald who was struggling to get off his horse and not end up in the snow.

“You could say that,” Maxwell answered, finally stepping onto the ground. Familiar cold wind kissed his face with eagerness, making him squirm. “I can tell you about Therinfal Redoubt later, if you want. During a meal, maybe?”

“My treat,” the dwarf agreed. “So now, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find Solas first,” Maxwell said, raising his hand to protect his face from the omnipresent wind. “Have you seen him? He’s not here, it seems.”

“Yeah,” Varric confirmed. “He’s at his usual place. Shouldn’t be hard to find. Oh, and by the way, our Grey Warden fellow finally came to his senses. You may want to talk to him as well.”

“Thanks,” Maxwell nodded. “I’ll go find him.”

Solas remained a priority, though. As far as Maxwell knew, the elf was an expert in the Fade and knew so much about spirits and demons he’d be able to write at least a dozen books, each different and really heavy. If Maxwell wanted to trust anyone with his little but very acute problem, that would be him (Cullen as well, of course, but he doubted the Commander would be able to help here).

He went through the loud crowd, giving excuses to those he bumped into or whose feet he stepped on by accident, though most people didn’t even notice or were simply too happy to become angry. Maxwell wished he was able to just stay and be happy with them, but he had no such opportunity.

As he was almost out of the place, however, someone’s arms grabbed him from behind and turned him to face the crowd again. When Maxwell caught up with the sudden change and looked to his side, Cullen was still half-embracing him, one of the Commander’s hands tight around his shoulders and the other one grasping his arm.

Cullen was smiling, almost beaming, and seemed very proud of the Herald and his resent deed. The templars stepped around them, cheering. Maxwell couldn’t concentrate on them, though, as his nightmares suddenly came back, crushing him again, making him utterly terrified. He tensed and shivered for a brief moment, goosebumps covering his skin underneath his clothes and armor. That made the people around him frown in almost perfect sync, and the Commander’s arm shifted slightly, as if he wasn’t sure if he had to pull it away or not.

“I uh…” he started nervously.

Maxwell laughed and nudged him slightly.

“You really surprised me!” he announced, and that was enough to return the smile to Cullen’s face. The hug came back full force, making him want to run away and hide.

“I didn’t know you were that easy to scare!” the Commander exhaled with relief.

“Sure you didn’t,” Maxwell said, his voice sounding playfully offended. “Remember that time when I was having a peaceful walk around the house before going to bed?”

“No, I don’t,” Cullen shook his head, his lie completely obvious.

People around them laughed merrily, and the joyful meeting resumed, having no intent to let Maxwell go. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as Josephine came to his rescue.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, coming to stand before Maxwell and the Commander. “But I’m afraid we still have a meeting to attend. Your parents,” she turned to face the Herald, “have answered your letter. It is not yet open as we were expecting you to read it first.”

“Oh…” Maxwell briefly wondered if she’d just saved him or made his day worse. “I see. Let’s get to it then.”

“Alright,” Cullen nodded.

The Commander waved to the templars, promising to join them later, and stepped toward the chantry, both Maxwell and Josephine following him quietly. The distance between them and the crowd widened with their every step, but it still seemed like people were cheering right into their ears. It only stopped when they entered the building, massive doors muting all outside sounds almost completely. Sister Leliana met them inside, bowing slightly, and Cassandra turned up a few minutes later.

“I need a moment, if you’ll excuse me,” Josephine said once they gathered, and went to her room, probably to retrieve the letter.

“In the meantime, let us go inside,” Leliana offered.

The meeting room was bright and warm. Maxwell somehow felt really uncomfortable, though, and chose to stay a bit farther from the table than usual. No one noticed that, and he felt relieved even though deep inside he knew that the nightmares were over with, and all this behavior was childish. Maxwell still couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe time would help.

The door opened, and Josephine stepped inside, holding a scroll in her hand.

“I’m sorry if this is not the appropriate time to give you this letter,” she said, offering him the scroll, “but seeing as we have an important matter at hand, I thought it would be best to give it to you as soon as possible.”

“It’s okay,” Maxwell assured her and accepted the letter.

 _I wish I could believe in this myself,_ he thought.

The fear of his nightmares silently moved to free some space for the fear of rejection. Maxwell supposed he didn’t have much choice here. Right now he could only try to shut down every emotion and just read the letter. Take care of the matter at hand.

He removed the small silk ribbon from the paper and unfolded it.

A few lines later he suddenly forgot how to breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

_Brother._

_It is a miracle your letter managed to find me.  Who knows, maybe our luck is still breathing._

_Believe me, I would rather send you good news, but I don’t want to lie to you. What happened here in our estate a day ago was insane. There’s no home to return to anymore, the templars left it in burning ruins. I don’t know why they attacked us so suddenly, but it is probably connected to your Inquisition somehow._

_Our parents didn’t make it, and I only survived because I got there too late._

_Oscar is fine. Thankfully, I didn’t bring him along. He’s safe and far away from that place. Sorry for not telling you where he is exactly, but I’m doing this in case someone gets this letter before you do. Can’t blame me for being careful now._

_I will keep an eye on him. Protect him, too. That’s my duty both as a templar and as a brother._

_P.S.: I’m sending Beth with your agent. The bird is smart and will find me no matter where I hide. Just make sure it stays healthy._

_And I’m sorry. I wish I was able to do something, but going against all those templars would do nothing except taking my life for no reason, and Oscar still needs me. I can’t abandon him._

_Please be safe and write back soon._

_Your brother_

_Kain._

Maxwell lay on his bed, smiling.

This strange feeling of happiness didn’t occur to him at first. Back in the meeting room shock was the only reaction that letter got out of him. Maxwell wasn’t even able to utter anything coherent, just stood there on his spot, clutching the paper between his trembling fingers, and wouldn’t let go of the letter when the Ambassador tried to take it away. The advisors quickly agreed on giving him some time to recover, and Cullen walked him home and told him he’d be back with herbal tea later. The Commander sounded worried and hesitated before leaving.

There was nothing to worry about, though. Now, when Maxwell was alone, the understanding slowly came to him and made him content. He suspected he should’ve felt sad or empty from the loss, maybe frustrated because the Inquisition wouldn’t get a new ally… But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the faces of his siblings. His sister was dead because of his parents. One of his brothers almost waved his life goodbye as a result of their decisions. Then they abandoned Maxwell with his despair at the Conclave, right when he needed them most. And now they were dead themselves, unable to do any more harm, unable to continue with their ways.

It felt like the cage Maxwell had been stuck in for all his life suddenly just… evaporated. No more iron rods, and he could spread his aching wings at long last. How could Maxwell feel sad when it felt so wonderful?

Both his brothers were alive, too. Kain had always been a clever man, and, most importantly, he had experience. Oscar wouldn’t know any worries by his side. Maxwell also suspected he wasn’t the only one happy with their parents gone. Maybe his brothers didn’t have enough courage to admit it as openly as he did, but he knew they felt the same freedom. He only wished his sister lived to experience that.

_“You are well. Unbound. Like a bird in the endless sky. Flapping its wings. Catching the wind.”_

Maxwell closed his eyes for a moment, the smile lingering on his lips. As he moved to lie on his side, the voice hummed. This time its owner was perfectly visible: a thin man was sitting on the writing table, his legs hanging down and arms pressing to the wooden surface. There was a big hat placed on the man’s head, and Maxwell briefly wondered if it was comfortable to wear.

“Hello,” was the only thing he said, laying his head on top of his hand.

There wasn’t even a shadow of worry or doubt surfacing in his mind. The stranger looked familiar, as his voice had sounded before, though Maxwell was pretty sure he’d never seen or heard him. There was also the fact that the man appeared in his house in a flash and without any obvious direction to come from… but whatever, Maxwell was so worn out after all the surprises the day had presented earlier that he hardly cared. And if he chose to be completely honest with himself, he knew he trusted the stranger.

“You were the one who guided me out, right?” he asked.

 _“Envy was hurting you,”_ the man answered, nodding faintly. _“I wanted to help. You.”_

“Well, you did, obviously,” Maxwell said. “I’m no longer suffering, thanks to you.”

There was no answer. Maxwell blinked, and when his eyes opened again, no man was sitting on the table anymore. At first he thought the stranger had disappeared.

 _“No,”_ the voice sounded from his side. Maxwell flinched and sat up, startled, looking at its owner who was now standing by the window.

“No?” he repeated, not quite sure he was getting it.

 _“Envy is gone,”_ the man said, then turned around and approached the bed, his steps almost silent. _“But it is not. It is still there.”_

“There? Where?” Maxwell asked.

 _“Here,”_ the man pointed at his forehead.

That explained the internal struggle back in the forest, then. Maxwell touched his forehead and tried to concentrate on his thoughts to check if there was something in there that would feel unnatural to him. But Envy was good at hiding. Either that, or things were far worse than he’d imagined.

“So… am I possessed?” came the next question.

 _“Not entirely,”_ the man shook his head. _“Your thoughts are still yours. But Envy too. Yours.”_

“The demon?”

_“Yes.”_

Maxwell brought his legs up and hugged his knees, letting his head rest on top of them.   _Could be worse,_ he thought. _Still… pretty bad as it is._ For him, a man who hardly knew what Fade was, having a demon stuck inside his head was like carrying some kind of a parasite or maybe a disease that he didn’t know how to get rid of. Good thing he was too tired to become worried.

 _“It is not dangerous, not yet,”_ the man sat down on the floor and looked up at Maxwell, his eyes bright and clear. Captivating. _“I’m here. I’m Cole. I will help.”_

Maxwell found himself letting go of his thoughts pretty fast.

“…thanks,” he said, looking away. It’d felt like those eyes were piercing through his entire being, and while Maxwell didn’t find that unpleasant, it was… strange, to say at least. “By the way… I’m not very familiar with the Fade and all, so I’d really appreciate it if you told me about what happened back th-”

There was a knock at the door. Interrupted, Maxwell looked up from Cole’s face and frowned.

_Right. Cullen must’ve returned._

“Hold on,” he muttered, getting up. “I should let the Commander in.”

Without waiting for an answer, Maxwell quickly made it to the door and opened it just slightly so the cold wind wouldn’t get in and freeze them both. He hoped Cullen wouldn’t see this as a sign of inhospitality. However, when the door opened, Maxwell didn’t find the Commander standing behind it; to his mild surprise, he found there Solas instead. The elf examined him briefly from head to toe.

“How are you feeling?” he asked once his eyes returned to Maxwell’s face.

“I’m… good, I guess?” Maxwell answered hesitantly, stepping aside. “Come in. I was just talking to Cole about something. You should meet him, he’s-”

The words stuck in his mouth as soon as he looked over his shoulder. There was no one besides him in the room now. Cole had disappeared, this time Maxwell was certain: he could see the whole place from where he was standing.

“…gone,” Maxwell finished.

“Gone?” Solas stepped inside and looked around. His eyes soon stopped on the floor in front of Maxwell’s bed. “I see.”

“You believe me,” Maxwell muttered, closing the door.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Solas asked calmly, glancing at him.

“Well… I did just say I was talking to someone, and there’s no one here,” Maxwell said, pointing at nothing in particular. “And you’re visiting me, which means someone told you about the demonic possession. Doesn’t my behavior strike you as a little… I don’t know, unusual?”

Solas watched him for a long moment, just standing there motionless.

“…no,” he finally answered and stepped past Maxwell.

_Did he have to wait so long before answering?_

Maxwell followed the elf, grabbing a chair on his way. It looked like a serious conversation was coming, so he’d need Solas to sit on something.

“Here,” he said, placing the chair next to his bed.

Solas sat down quietly, looking relaxed. Maxwell hopped back onto the bed and settled there cross-legged. Seeing the elf behave like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, he felt some of the pressure lift from his own shoulders.

“How much do you know?” he started.

“Enough to make assumptions,” Solas answered. “But one would be foolish to try curing his patient without learning the details of his illness first.”

“Which means…”

“You will have to tell me about your experience in the Fade with as much precision as possible.”

“Fair enough,” Maxwell agreed.

His story didn’t take long. The more time passed, the less Maxwell remembered, and most of his memories were fuzzy by now, escaping from him like small fish in muted water every time he reached out to grab them. He told Solas about Cullen’s death, pointing out it was Leliana who murdered him; described the room he woke up in later. Then he slowly recalled Cole’s warning and Cullen’s revival that he hadn’t seen but yet instantly chose to believe in. Then the merging thing... Maxwell didn’t dwell upon it too much, deciding it would be better to keep the embarrassing side of it to himself.

Solas stopped him to ask questions sometimes, answers to which Maxwell mostly didn’t know. He didn’t know if there had been anything odd about his surroundings, couldn’t remember the smell or if he’d seen any shadows lurking around. All of that left him a little frustrated, because according to Solas there seemed to be a lot of things he was leaving out.

The Commander interrupted them at some point, bringing news and hot tea. Maxwell was somewhat embarrassed to accept Cullen’s help, but he supposed that was what friends were for. He’d try to stay around the Commander too if his entire family was wiped out. Cullen took another chair and settled nearby, hands folded across his chest and eyes narrowed in attention.

“And then Cole came here,” Maxwell finished some time later, holding a mug of steaming tea. “He told me the envy demon is still here. In my head.”

“And you believe him?” Cullen frowned, doubtful.

“Well, he did save me in the Fade,” Maxwell shrugged. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t trust him now. If he wanted me dead, he would’ve killed me long ago.”

“The boy is a spirit,” Solas said. “You were very fortunate to encounter him.”

Maxwell brought the mug down, placing it on his knee but still holding it tightly so it wouldn’t fall and scald him.

“Vivienne said something like that,” he recalled. “Told me getting help from them isn’t common.”

“It is not,” the elf agreed. “And I should say the effort was notable. According to what you have just told us, the spirit should not have entered your mind at all.”

“Why not?” Maxwell asked.

“Because the demon almost had you,” Cullen answered, unintentionally interrupting Solas. The elf sighed quietly and sank back into the chair. “When you ran to save…. me…? I think you lost your guard and became vulnerable to the demon.”

“Yes,” Solas confirmed. “The demon’s power should have muted all worries of your mind by erasing your memories and making you feel like you were safe. But the boy still saw through the lie and helped you.”

Maxwell nodded, looking down.  
  
“I still had this… debate with myself back there,” he said. “Envy is still inside.”

“I assume it is trapped,” the elf said. “You should be careful when you go to sleep. I will be there for you, and so will the spirit you have encountered, I am sure. Still... Do not trust anything you see. If you lose your guard again, the demon may try to get you.”

“Right…”

“That is not the only possible outcome,” Solas continued. “Seeing as you described your ‘debate’ as an internal struggle against yourself and not the demon, and taking into account your merging with it, I suspect you may become one at some point.”

“Like… really merge?”

“Possibly so. It may have already started, but if that is the case, I am certain it is not yet complete. There is a heavy contradiction.”

“That would make you act differently,” the Commander said.

“Differently how?”

“I have not encountered it so far, but it seems logical…” Cullen started thoughtfully. “If the demon fully merged with you, he would probably interfere with your mind and alter it. You would become harsher, colder. Maybe more cruel. Pleased when someone suffered or happy when someone died. All those things.”

“Yes, that seems accurate,” Solas nodded. “And there wouldn’t have been any disagreements if the process was complete. I doubt the demon intended to merge with you, though. Back in the Fade it must have been one of its tricks to destroy your defense completely.”

“How did you allow it to happen, by the way?” the Commander glanced at Maxwell, making him extremely uncomfortable. He’d hoped neither of the two would ask him about that. Telling them he’d dropped his defenses around Cullen would make him look… no. Out of the question.

“I didn’t really notice it,” Maxwell lied. “Was just standing in the meeting room, and then the next thing I knew the demon was pouring inside through my skin.”

Solas frowned, but didn’t comment on that.

“It is getting late,” the elf said instead. “We should rest. The Breach will not wait for us, and we should be ready to close it soon.”

“Yeah,” Maxwell nodded, getting up. Now that he thought about it, it had been a horribly long day. The moment when he’d entered Haven seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.

“You will not be alone,” Solas added. “If any other memory surfaces in your mind, be sure to come to me.”

“Of course,” he promised.

Solas then bowed slightly and made it to the door, leaving him and Cullen alone. As soon as the door closed behind the elf, Maxwell suddenly became strongly aware of being alone with the Commander. It had felt comfortable before, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Cullen didn’t seem to have anything to say, yet he didn’t hurry to leave as well. He was just sitting there, quietly watching Maxwell and frowning. They remained silent for a minute, unpleasant tension rising within the Herald with each passing second. Soon he was unable to keep quiet.

“You’re not tired?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“I am,” the Commander answered calmly. “But I’m waiting.”

Maxwell blinked.

“Waiting for what?”

“Waiting for you to tell me the truth.”

Cullen straightened on the chair, pressing his back to its wooden surface. He looked serious, and Maxwell suspected there was no escape this time.

_Maker… I’d rather vanish than tell him the truth. He won’t understand, and our friendship will shatter like a card house._

“I told you… everything I could,” he stuttered and scolded himself internally.

The Commander sighed.

“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” he asked.

And it was so difficult to bring himself to lie. But Maxwell couldn’t just open his mouth and let the truth run. The price was too high. He wasn’t sure Cullen would forgive him for lying, but he definitely knew the Commander would feel disgusted if he found out what had really happened. There wasn’t much of a choice here. He had to push forward.

“I told you the truth,” Maxwell said stubbornly, looking to the side. “Everything is okay, don’t worry.”

There was a movement, and it was fast. Maxwell didn’t have enough time to register it in his head. When it ended a split second later, he found the Commander awfully close, Cullen’s hand resting on his shoulder and squeezing it. The man stepped closer, and Maxwell jumped back, horrified, the memories surrounding him once again. He was breathing hard, air too difficult to absorb through his nostrils alone.

When he realized his fear was visible as clear as day, it was too late.

“Is it?” Cullen asked, his voice sounding angry now. “I think not. Back there at the gates I thought you were scared of me standing so close to you. You almost made me believe you were just surprised, but now I can clearly see it wasn’t just that.”

“I-”

“You’re uncomfortable when I’m touching you, aren’t you?” the Commander interrupted him. “Why? Is that connected to the demon? What happened there to make you scared of me?”

“Nothing ha-”

“Don’t give me that! I’m your friend, am I not? Whatever happened, you can tell me, I promise I won’t leave you!”

“Nothing…” Maxwell muttered, looking down. This whole situation was putting pressure on him, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to carry. The Commander’s hand was still on his shoulder, and Maxwell was sure Cullen was watching him, waiting for him to raise his eyes to look back at him, to have a contact. The Commander’s fingers were strong, and he refused to let go. It was endless.

Maxwell sighed, feeling defeated.

“There…” He started, and a second later bit his lip, halting.

_This is not a good idea._

“Yes?” Cullen tried to encourage him. “There…?”

“Envy did… something to make me… distracted,” Maxwell said, his voice quiet. He really didn’t want to talk about this. Not to Cullen.

“That’s something,” the Commander said. “What did it do?”

“Uh…” Maxwell glanced up at him briefly and then resumed staring at the floor. Staring at the Commander would be too much. “I’m not sure how to put it…”

“Well…” Cullen was sounding unsure himself now. “Just say it straight? I’ll understand. Well. Try to…”

“Alright…” Maxwell nodded. But no way was he doing that. He’d have to start from afar. “Envy took your form again, you are aware of that...”

“Yes, I know about that,” the Commander confirmed. “But what of it? What did you leave out when Solas was here?”

Here came the difficult part. If Maxwell had to tell him about the confessing thing, he’d have to be careful. Cullen was a former templar, and he would probably believe that if the confession happened, Maxwell was the one who’d secretly desired it first. Demons searched for things that were already there, after all. Which _couldn’t_ be the case here because if it was, Maxwell would’ve been aware of it.

And there was also the fact that Maxwell wasn’t the one who confessed. It would probably have an impact too.

_Maker, what should I say?_

“Well… You did something to distract me from… ugh…” he shook his head. “It’s difficult. Believe me.”

“I do,” Cullen said.

Maxwell wanted to let it out already, but his tongue stayed frozen in his mouth. Then a horrible idea came to him, and his right hand jerked slightly, fingers clenching and unclenching. He held his breath and brought the hand up, pressing it to the Commander’s cheek. Warm, stubbled skin moved under his fingers as Cullen gasped quietly, undoubtedly getting the point.

“That’s… one way to put it,” the Commander said after a moment. He sounded embarrassed, and Maxwell was sure he’d laugh if he wasn’t embarrassed even more.

“Yeah…” he nodded, dropping his hand. He was utterly scared of looking up now.

“Well…” Cullen was silent for a moment. “I… I’m not like that…”

“Yeah, I told it the same,” Maxwell said. “It didn’t really listen. Just…”

“…just?”

“Just continued embracing me, and I couldn’t get away.”

“Maker…”

The hand on Maxwell’s shoulder was swiftly withdrawn, and he gathered enough strength to look at the Commander. Cullen was watching the door, obviously wishing to be anywhere but here. Yet he was hesitating to move. Good thing Maxwell hadn’t told him what exactly happened. Right now he wasn’t getting a good reaction, but it wasn’t the worst one, either. Fear was better than disgust.

_Wait. What do you mean by ‘a good reaction’?_

“I uh…” Cullen glanced at him shortly and then averted his eyes again. Looked like the ‘not watching’ thing was contagious. “It’s really late.”

“Sure,” Maxwell shrugged. _There goes._ “Good night.”

The Commander looked at him again, and Maxwell involuntary felt like a predator. A very grim one.

“It’s alright, nothing bad happened,” Cullen tried to assure him. Maybe himself, as well. It didn’t really work. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…”

The Commander made a few steps back and then turned to leave, his movements quick and clumsy. He was in a hurry, small wonder. A moment later Cullen was gone, the door shutting loudly behind him.

 _Liar,_ Maxwell thought sullenly, closing his eyes.

***

Blackwall was a good man. That was the first impression Maxwell got upon meeting him outside the following morning. It was surprisingly comforting to see someone with the same tired face and slouching shoulders. Blackwall was still recovering from the defeat, more mentally than physically. There weren’t any burns visible on his body, not on the open places, at least. But the man was still moving kind of uncomfortably, which showed that it still hurt.

Blackwall wanted the murderer of the Divine dead. He seemed to believe Maxwell innocent though, so he was safe for the moment.

The other nice thing was the man’s status as a Grey Warden. Maxwell had heard about them before, from his parents mostly. He’d still been too young and inexperienced during the last Blight, so the only things he’d got were news and rumors. Most of them included the Hero of Ferelden, and that was when he’d really learned about the Grey Wardens. And now, even though he had never seen a Warden in action, having one around felt rather nice.

A Breach in the sky seemed quite similar to a Blight, when he thought about that.

The conversation with the Warden was interrupted at some point by a man who introduced himself as Cremisius Aclassi, a member of the Bull’s Chargers mercenary group. Maxwell wasn’t very surprised to learn that the whole group wanted to join the Inquisition. Wasn’t against it either.  The Inquisition had already gained enough support to try closing the Breach, but the more the better.

The mercenary offered Maxwell to come to the Storm Coast. According to his words, there he would be able to witness the Chargers in all their deadly power. But as much as Maxwell would like to do that, he didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave Haven right now. And he still hoped to talk to the Commander. If Cullen wouldn’t try to avoid him, that is. That in mind, Maxwell apologized and declined the offer. However, as Cremisius was leaving, he stopped the man and told him the Inquisition would still like to meet the group, only later. That seemed to please the mercenary enough, and he left.

“Why didn’t you just send agents with him?” Blackwall asked once the man was far enough.

“I thought about it,” Maxwell answered, watching Cremisius go. “But I bet that guy knew who he was talking to. Their leader wouldn’t want mere agents witnessing his power. He needs someone who’s standing as a leader.”

He turned to Blackwall and continued:

“And I don’t mean myself. The best decision would be bringing Cassandra there. I’d never taken anyone aboard without her. Don’t intend to break that unwritten law now, and she’s busy. The Chargers will have to wait.”

The Warden nodded.

An hour later the delayed meeting with the advisors resumed. Maxwell was the last one to come into the room, but no one scolded him for that. Cassandra only asked him if he’d slept well, and he answered honestly that it had really been difficult to even close his eyes. It was the truth, however Envy wasn’t the only one who encouraged his insomnia. There was also the Commander that was now standing farther from him than usual, and Maxwell didn’t like that. Actually, he felt quite offended. He kept that to himself, though.

As to his dreams, Maxwell didn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but he was pretty sure someone had been watching him while he was asleep. That he told the advisors, adding that it most probably had been Cole.

After that the meeting went on. The main issue was the Breach itself once more, and this time it seemed like the Inquisition was holding enough power to make an attempt at closing it. That would be their last task, and the advisors were mostly confident.

Maxwell wasn’t. It wouldn’t be an advantage to have a demon inside while attempting to close the Breach. If the mark took too much strength from him, Envy would probably try to lock his soul away. If it succeeded, the Maxwell that’d have the Breach closed would be different from the original.

Only Cullen was aware of the entire situation, Maxwell supposed, because besides him the Commander was the only one looking unconvinced.

When the meeting ended, Cullen didn’t run away as Maxwell had supposed he would. He remained standing next to the table instead, obviously waiting for everyone else to leave. A thought of leaving as well crossed Maxwell’s mind, but he quickly tossed it away. Their… relationship was in a bad state as it was.

Leliana happened to be the last to leave, and she was obviously thinking both the Herald and the Commander would follow her out. However, when she looked back at them to check, they remained on their places.

“Is something the matter?” The Spymaster frowned.

“No, it’s all r-”

“It is a private matter,” Cullen interrupted him. “Nothing that concerns our mission.”

“I see,” Leliana nodded. “Be prepared. We are going to close the Breach tonight.”

Both men nodded, and she exited the room, closing the door tight behind her. The sound of it hitting the doorframe was deafening, and the following second drowned in a chorus of echoes flowing off the walls.

Maxwell folded his hands across his chest. A defensive sign. He had no idea what the Commander was about to say, but he really hoped their friendship wouldn’t die here, now. After a minute of complete silence he finally looked up at Cullen only to see him staring at the door again.

 _There it is. He’s going to run_.

However, the Commander just sighed and looked back at him, their eyes meeting and holding long contact for the first time since the evening.

“I lied to you once,” Cullen said, his voice low.

Maxwell waited.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” the Commander continued. He was still looking into Maxwell’s face, and it was evident he wanted to avert his eyes. “But I did.”

There was a long pause; Cullen must’ve waited for him to interrupt or at least to nod. To do anything. When the man understood nothing of the sort was coming, he still went on, his voice softer and quieter than before. Maxwell had to strain his ears.

“When a demon tries to possess someone, he brings out their weakest sides and presses on them. When you saw ‘me’ doing… whatever it is ‘I’ did…” Cullen’s breath hitched, and he finally looked away. “It probably happened… because you wanted it to.”

Maxwell opened his mouth and closed it again, no sound escaping from him. His fingers clenched into fists, and he brought them behind his back so the Commander wouldn’t notice.

“I’ve never been with anyone,” Cullen said, looking away. “Only loved once… Years ago. She was beautiful. Kind. A hero.”

_Great. Now tell me it was **the** Hero._

“Someone I would never get,” the Commander finished and looked back at him. “You are my friend. I don’t have many. Actually, I don’t think I have more than one. And…”

_Come on, say it._

“I don’t think we can be more than that. I’m sorry.”

Not that Maxwell wanted. He didn’t even think he was attracted to the Commander. There was another problem, though… Cullen wouldn’t believe in that. Looking into his eyes, Maxwell saw sad confidence in them. Frustration. Not even a hint of uncertainty.

It had been decided, and without him.

He inhaled.

“Got it,” he said, his voice calm. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“…yes,” Cullen nodded. He sounded lost.

“I’m going to get prepared for the mission, then. See you there.”

The Commander inhaled sharply, obviously wanting to stop him, but Maxwell left before he was able to. Cullen stayed in the room, alone.

***

The sky was buried in the clouds, bright light from the Breach pouring down onto the ground. Maxwell was walking with the templars, trying to keep his back straight. The task was far more difficult than it first seemed. Having all the weight of the past events on his shoulders, Maxwell was genuinely surprised he was able to even move.

Maybe it was the duty that kept him going. Maybe it was the people he was walking with. If he looked to the side, he would see uncertainty. If he looked closer, he would see fear. Sometimes people would look back at him, and their eyes would shine with hope or need. Sometimes, their eyes wouldn’t shine at all.

He wondered if his eyes shone.

As they were getting closer to their destination, Cassandra left the Commander to lead the templars alone and approached Maxwell. She was looking far better than he was, her sharp movements reflecting readiness. He… well.

“I’m getting a week off when we’re done with this,” Maxwell said, trying to sound cheerful.

The Seeker looked at him.

“You’re not fooling anyone, I’m afraid,” she said, corners of her mouth lowering. “I know the loss hurts. And I am sorry there is nothing we can do about your family… But we can close the Breach at least.”

_That’s not it._

Maxwell nodded.

“Yeah. I wish my parents were able to witness this,” he said. “They’d probably be proud.”

Cassandra looked away quietly and continued walking forward. Maxwell had expected her to talk, but all that came after that was silence. Maybe she was just more comfortable walking next to him than leading the templars alongside Cullen. He didn’t want to ask, though. Actually, not thinking about the Commander at all would be nice.

“Did something happen between you and Cullen?” The Seeker asked, and Maxwell almost tripped over his own feet.

“Nothing happened,” he lied, not meeting her eyes even though he knew she was watching him again.

“Is that so.”

Maxwell chose to not answer to that. He didn’t know what to say anyway. He’d opened his mouth too many times before, and the result just bit him right back.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to avoid talking for long. Soon they finally reached the place where everything began. Here it would end. The temple of Sacred Ashes lay in ruins, not even a bird or a small animal lurking around. Only thick dust and dead silence. The Breach was looming right over them, threatening and obscure.

The templars surrounded Maxwell and the two advisors that were present. Solas approached the Herald as well, leaning onto his staff.

“It is time,” he said.

“Let’s hope it will work,” Cullen added. Maxwell didn’t throw a glance at him, his eyes locked on the Breach.

 _Friends, right…_ He thought. _You didn’t even ask me what I was thinking. How I was feeling. You just decided on your own._

“Let’s do it,” Maxwell said, bringing his left hand up and observing it. Green light pulsed happily in response, burning his skin slightly.

Cassandra called out to the templars as soon as he finished talking. Closing the Breach required a lot of power, so the Herald would need a source to scoop it from. The Seeker ordered the templars to take up the positions, which had been decided beforehand. All men would stay near Maxwell but at the same time wouldn’t get in the way.

The Commander was busy with the templars as well, checking their general mood and talking to some of them if he noticed something was off. In the end only Solas stayed beside Maxwell, and he swore that was enough.

He waited, watching the advisors do their work. It didn’t take long, as the details of their plan had been decided long ago. Cassandra led part of the templars up the stairs and left them on the balcony. Others stayed below with the Commander, and she joined him as soon as everything was ready.

Solas placed his palm on Maxwell’s shoulder.

“Do not worry.”

“Yes.”

Maxwell raised his eyes to look at the Seeker. Cassandra held his stare patiently and confidently, not a single muscle of her body moving until he gave her a sign. He couldn’t help feeling grateful for that. Not so long ago he’d been a prisoner, and she’d had his life in her grasp. Now they stood as equals, here, under the Breach, about to perform a wonder. She was the one who’d given him that chance.

He smiled and gave a short nod. Cassandra’s eyes widened for a short second, and then her voice thundered over the ruins, reaching every man.

“Templars!”

“Focus past the Herald!” Solas raised his staff. “Let his will draw from you!”

 _I wonder if they practiced this,_ Maxwell thought, turning back to the Breach. He raised his hand, and the burning feeling became sharper, yet still bearable. He made a step, then another one, his feet stepping slowly on the dry ground. The closer he got to the Breach, the harder it was to move. But he continued.

There was a loud clashing sound behind him. The templars must have moved somehow, but Maxwell was too busy to look back now. He advanced, holding up the mark, and unnatural green light reached out to the Breach.

When it connected, it hurt. With each passing second the pain grew, making Maxwell want to take his hand away, but he struggled.

_Friend… I could even be more._

“Huh..?”

His eyes widened.

_It can’t be a mistake, I feel it in you!_

_Tell me what you feel…_

“Stop…”

The pain intensified. Maxwell tried to shut down the flow of his thoughts, but something was pushing through, bringing back memories. Bad memories, ones he’d been struggling so hard to bury deep inside. Envy was making its move.

 _“Could even be more…”_ Cullen’s voice repeated, soft and loud in his ears.

“Stop it!” Maxwell shouted. It hurt so bad…

“I’m here!” Solas shouted, grabbing his wrist. The elf’s grip was so strong as if he was holding for dear life. “I’m with you!”

“He’s doing something to me!” Maxwell shouted back, frightened.

“Push him away! Focus on the strength you’re getting from the templars!”

Maxwell tried. Slowly, the voice became indistinct, and then disappeared altogether. The mark on his hand all but exploded, and he fell to his knees, Solas still holding his wrist and keeping the connection between the Herald and the Breach. Maxwell didn’t know what happened next, as the pain filled his body, and he lost himself in it.

When he came to, he was lying on the ground. The Breach was gone, only a dark vortex resting in the sky now, looking ominous but not exactly alive. Cassandra was staring at Maxwell from above, worry written all over her face, and he could feel Solas casting his recovery spells one after another. Maxwell groaned and tried to sit up.

“Careful!” Cassandra said, supporting him so he wouldn’t fall down.

“I’m good, I’m good…” Maxwell muttered. As soon as the man sat, he looked around. The templars were unharmed, still standing on their places, which meant he hadn’t been out for long. They were cheering happily, and some of them even sang.

It was a victory, then.

If so, why couldn’t he smile?

The answer to that question was found as soon as his eyes caught the Commander. Cullen was standing several steps away from him and his companions, his face hard to read. Almost unreadable even, but there was one thing that was as clear as water. Maxwell had seen it a lot during these days, after all. Hesitation.

 _Come on… Come closer,_ he asked silently. Maxwell didn’t know why, but he really wanted Cullen to be close now. More than anything. _Please. That’s all I’m asking for._

The Commander turned away and hurried to join the templars. Maxwell’s hand rose to his chest, fingers clenching and pressing to the cold surface of his armor, right above his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Hope you like this chapter.  
> As to the previous one, I noticed some of the words went German in there (stickingtogether likethat lol). That is now fixed. Not sure that helped, though.  
> Still have no beta. Bear with me, please.


	6. Chapter 6

“Have you seen it? There’s no Breach anymore!”

“Thank the Maker!”

“Are we safe, then?”

“Mama, the sky is still scary…”

A large crowd gathered in front of the chantry despite the late hour. Fingers rose towards the sky, pointing at the huge dark vortex that was resting motionlessly now among heavy clouds. There were no green bolts crashing down on earth anymore, nature breathing undisturbed as it had been in the beginning. Even the smell was different.

Hours passed, and the vortex hadn’t changed in slightest. The Breach was gone.

“They’re back! The Herald is back!”

The crowd moved, many feet breaking the silence as people hurried to welcome those who’d sealed the Breach. The templars were greeted with respect and admiration, but ones that had led them to this glorious day were met as heroes. Especially the Herald of Andraste, the face and the hope of the Inquisition, a man with the divine blessing. It was he who ended the terrifying nightmare, giving the world a new tomorrow.

“That man is our hero!”

“You saved us!”

The Seeker's hand landed confidently on the Herald’s shoulder.

“The Breach is sealed!” she announced loudly with a proud smile on her face.

With all the cheering that followed Maxwell thought he would go deaf. He blinked and glanced briefly at the Seeker, not really sure if he needed to add anything to her statement. Cassandra nodded encouragingly, and he returned his eyes to the crowd.

 “We have won!” He shouted with a wide, victorious smile, raising his fist high in the air. Numerous hands shot up in response, followed by a thundering tumult of rejoicing.

“Let us celebrate!” a familiar voice cut in, and a second later Josephine appeared beside Maxwell, shining with happiness. She even hugged his hand, evidently trying to show she was proud of him. Which looked entirely unprofessional, but maybe she was just caught up in the moment.

“A great idea,” Cassandra supported. “We have earned it. And you,” she looked at Maxwell, “you deserve your week off.”

Maxwell nodded, beaming.

“Just give me a moment, alright? I need to do something first,” he said. Then he waived to the crowd once more and stepped back. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

His eyes landed unintentionally on the Commander, and Maxwell found Cullen staring back at him with a thoughtful expression. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but Maxwell strolled off quickly before Cullen would find enough courage to stop him. He’d nearly bumped into Leliana, yet managed to avoid her at the last second. Maxwell bowed slightly with a quiet “sorry” and left shortly after that.

The walk back home wasn’t long, but Maxwell still rushed. He reached his house in wide steps, and after a brief struggle unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was dark inside, only faint moonlight coming through the half-covered windows, but he didn’t really care. When Maxwell closed the door, standing alone in the room, everything became quieter. More private.

Maxwell pressed his back to the door and slid down slowly, covering his face with his hands. He let out a muffled sob and bit his lip painfully in an attempt to calm down, but his shoulders were shaking, and he couldn’t control it at all. He had no idea how he’d managed to get home before breaking down. A thought of showing this weakness in front of everyone was horrifying.

_Calm down. Just calm down…_

He slowly lay down on his side, bringing his knees close to his chest.

Now that everything was over, the realization hit him quite hard. The demon had almost gotten him, made him scared and desperate, and if Solas hadn’t been there, Maxwell was sure he would’ve lost that fight. And it still hurt, his damned hand, all of it, from the tips of his fingers and up to his shoulder. Now even harsher than before.

Someone knocked.

_No… no, no, no…_

He crawled away from the door like a wounded animal.

“It’s me,” the Commander’s voice came from outside. “Are you in there?”

_Don’t answer._

Maxwell silently got to his bed and climbed on top of it, trying not to make much noise, though he knew Cullen wouldn’t hear it anyway.

Dealing with the Commander right now would be too much, especially taking his breakdown into account. Maxwell didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t even know what to think of him. It had hurt, hurt so bad when Cullen left him alone.

He lay there, shivering. Sounds of celebrating were starting to rise from behind the walls, and Maxwell hoped with all his being that Cullen would just go away. Nothing seemed to change for a long time, however, only forcing him to stiffen more and more. Maybe he had missed it? Maybe the Commander was already gone? Maxwell focused on the noise, trying to catch anything that would tell him if Cullen was around.

But the door was way too far, he wouldn’t be able to hear clearly unless he went back. He knew it wasn’t necessary; even if the Commander was there, he would eventually leave. Yet the urge to find out outweighed Maxwell’s messed state, and he found himself standing back up and quietly getting to the door. Upon approaching, he pressed his ear to the wooden surface.

“Listen…”

Maxwell almost jumped out of his skin.

“I should’ve said this long ago,” the Commander started, his voice barely audible from behind the door. “I’m sorry about what happened. What I said to you was…”

He halted.

 _True?_ Maxwell suggested grimly.

“Was uh…”

It looked like the Commander was having a lot of trouble with admitting he was absolutely positive about his judgment yet felt like a complete bastard at the same time. Maxwell waited silently, wondering where all of this would go.

It didn’t go far.

“Maker’s breath, just talk to me when you feel like it,” Cullen sighed, dropping his attempts. “I’ll be around.”

With that said, he left hastily, his footsteps echoing in Maxwell’s ears. Maxwell suddenly felt so empty that even his worries somewhat subsided. He stepped back from the door.

“Nice try, Commander,” he said, returning to bed.

Now Maxwell was entirely sure he wanted to avoid the whole celebrating thing. It may have been a victory, but he felt devastated and pathetic, and this interaction just now only made it worse. That, and the bed looked so much more inviting than all that noise coming from outside… Maxwell doubted he had a lot of options, though. As a kid, he’d been used to countless parties back at their family house. It was nowhere near appropriate for a host to be absent from his own celebration even if said host was in grave danger.

Coming to think of it, this case felt far worse… The celebration had already started, maybe people wouldn’t mind if he showed up later. _Yeah, sure,_ a thought surfaced as Maxwell lay down, but he ignored it. A nap was really tempting, and he closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the cool pillow.

As soon as Maxwell did that, however, a loud, unwelcomed sound came from the entrance again. Someone had grabbed his door handle and jerked it to the side, trying to get the door open. Now they were probably taken aback because it didn’t budge. There was only one person capable of doing that.

“Open the door,” Cassandra said loudly. “I know I told you that you could have your week off, but you have to share the victory with us first.”

Maxwell groaned, squeezing the pillow.

“Come on, open up,” the Seeker continued in a strict tone. “Or I can open the door myself, I have a spare key. It is up to you to decide.”

“Give me a break…” Maxwell muttered, getting up.

He opened the door, hoping he wouldn’t find more than one person at his doorstep. Thankfully, Cassandra was alone.

“Good, I was wondering why you…” She fell silent for a second, frowning at him. “You look horrible.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Maxwell nodded, moving aside. He didn’t want the Commander to notice he was accepting visitors. “Come in.”

The Seeker stepped inside, her hands resting on her hips.

“Why is it so dark here?” she asked.

“I was trying to get some sleep,” Maxwell answered honestly, closing the door behind her.

“During the celebration?”

He dropped the key on the table and sat down on one of the chairs nearby.

“You want me to go out looking like this?” Maxwell looked up at her.

 “…later,” she hesitantly permitted, and continued with something Maxwell really didn’t want to talk about, “I just saw the Commander leaving your doorstep. You didn’t let him in.”

 _Here she goes again,_ Maxwell thought, dropping his head. The Seeker just wouldn’t let go. It was a good thing from one point of view, he supposed; Cassandra was a leader, after all. It was next to her duty to know how the members of the Inquisition were doing. But he had absolutely no idea of how he would tell her about what was happening between him and the Commander. He couldn’t just say something like ‘we were great friends, but then he decided I’m in love with him, and now I feel kind of offended because he didn’t bother to ask me about it. Oh, and he left me when I needed him so much!’

“So?” Cassandra sat down in front of him, placing her elbows on her knees.

No, no way he was telling her. He’d made that mistake once already. Cullen had looked like he was able to handle the truth at the time, and it still ended badly. He didn’t want to lose this as well.

“Please,” he looked her directly in the eye. “Don’t ask me about this. I have no answer to this.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes.

“Did he offend you?”

“…why?”

“He was the one who came to you,” the Seeker averted her eyes and sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but… Cullen is going through a lot right now.”

_Like what?_

“When you appeared, he changed,” Cassandra continued. Maxwell tensed, listening closely. “He became more confident. Smiled more than usual. Seeing as you spent a lot of time together, I assume you became friends.”

Maxwell nodded.

“But now… Everything is back to how it had been,” the Seeker said, watching him. “Whatever happened between you, it is destructive for you both. I look into your eyes and see the same sadness he has in his. Believe me. Cullen may have made a mistake, but he is a good man.”

“I…” Maxwell wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find any words.

She was right, of course she was. He’d never had a friend such as Cullen. Usually it took months, sometimes even years for Maxwell to consider someone his friend, yet with the Commander it only took a day. Maybe an hour. Just one fight... And he trusted the Commander with his life no matter what happened.

“I know,” Maxwell finally said. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

 _It’s going to take a lot, though,_ he added internally. Apparently, Cullen had another secret he wasn’t aware of. Maxwell wasn’t surprised about that, he had a bunch of his own. Maker, everyone had secrets. But… what was Cassandra just talking about? She looked quite serious, too.

As Maxwell was about to ask her about that, something changed. Cassandra flinched and was on her feet faster than he could register what was going on. The sounds of cheerful celebrating died down, letting other, more disturbing ones prevail. Distant horns howling. Urgent call of alarm bells.

Maxwell slowly rose from his chair. “What the…”

The door was bashed open, and Cullen stood there, looking both steady and horrified.

“We’re under attack!” He announced, and the Seeker instantly dashed to the street, leaving Maxwell just standing there, dumbfounded.

“What? Why?” Maxwell felt the words leave his mouth as he followed after her, not even bothering to put on something warm.

It wasn’t really difficult to spot the threat as soon as he exited: a huge army was approaching Haven through the mountain passages, looking like a swarm of angry ants from a distance. Yet they were close. Dangerously so. People were running around, all the happiness gone from their faces, replaced with utter terror.

Fueled by collective panic, Maxwell’s composure started to slip away again, drop by drop.

_This is not happening… It can’t be happening…_

His hands went up as he hugged himself, watching the swarm move. Somewhere in his mind Maxwell knew he had to do something. It was his duty as the Herald of Andraste, and people looked up to him. But he wasn’t ready for this, this was too much…

He almost jumped when a sudden pressure fell on his shoulders. Maxwell raised his stare from the ground and saw the Commander standing right in front of him. Cullen was scared too, that was obvious from a single glance at his face. However, he looked like he had himself under control so far.

“I need you to focus,” the Commander said slowly and steadily. “Right now. I know it is hard, but you have to do it. I won’t be able to do this without you.”

Maxwell nodded faintly. It was hard to keep his thoughts gathered.

“Okay… okay,” the Commander was still looking into his eyes. “Listen. Grab your sword and follow me to the gates. We need to weigh our options, fast. Got it?”

“Y-yeah,” Maxwell managed to answer and stepped back.

Cullen let go of him, and he ran back into his house to pick his great sword that was resting next to the bed. Everything was happening like in a dream, flying fast and slow at the same time. Maxwell couldn’t concentrate on anything besides Cullen’s order; such a pitiful state may have been the result of reflecting a demon attack earlier, and not even a day had passed yet. Those who were about to attack them knew exactly when they had to strike.

He ran out and followed the Commander to the gates. The gates were already closed, the rest of the advisors standing there among the guardsmen and several templars.

“Cullen!” Cassandra approached them quickly. “There’s too much of them.”

“And they have no banner,” Josephine added, her voice anxious. She glanced at Maxwell and gasped silently, her eyes filled with worry. “Herald, are you alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” Cullen answered for him. “We need to come up with a plan, right now.”

“Yes, I-” Leliana started only to be cut off by a loud noise from behind the gates. It sounded suspiciously close to an explosion. Cassandra took hold of her sword and stepped back, cautious.

There was a moment of silence, so heavy it could almost be felt physically.

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!” a voice asked from the other side. Everyone froze on their spots, their eyes locked on the gates.

“What?” Cassandra muttered, taken aback.

“No point in asking, just stand back!” another voice rose, a harsher one. It sounded like it belonged to a rather huge guy. Maxwell glanced at the Commander and quickly understood they were thinking the same.

There was a hard thud, and the gates shuddered under a strong blow.

“What are you doing!” the first voice asked, heavy with disapproval.

“Opening the doors for us. Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to seal them back somehow.”

“What!” Cassandra shouted, looking furious.

“Wait!” Leliana quickly approached the gates, yet staying on a safe distance. “Who’s there?”

“Bull’s Chargers, about to save your asses!” the rough voice answered, and thankfully no blows followed after that. “Are you opening this thing or what?”

_Bull’s Chargers?_

It instantly clicked, and Maxwell ran to the gates as well.

“Let them in, I know them!” he shouted back, and the guardsmen rushed to help him.

As soon as the gates were open, eight people hopped inside. Bull’s Chargers, a mercenary group that had offered its services to Maxwell not even a day ago. Cremisius was among them, and so was a huge qunari with ridiculously large horns. _The Iron Bull,_ Maxwell recalled, _their leader_. He was probably the one who’d tried to bring down the gates, seeing as everyone else was too thin and small to do such a job.

There was also a man that stood out like a fox among a pack of wolves. He had a different air about him, and his posture reminded Maxwell of a noble kind rather than a mercenary.

“We’re here to warn you,” the man said, approaching the advisors quickly. “Fashionably late, I’m afraid.”

“Still have time,” Bull closed the gates with minimum effort, startling some of the guardsmen.

“I came to tell you what happened to the mages at Redcliffe,” the man continued, ignoring the qunari and leaning onto his staff. A mage, then. “You’re not going to like it. The mages are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the ‘Elder One’. They are led by a woman named Calpernia.” He took a breath and added: “They will be here soon. We’ve risked our lives to get here first.”

“Cullen,” Maxwell turned to the Commander. He was still feeling dazed, but it was somewhat easier to think now when he had focused people around. “Give me a plan if you have any.”

“Well, Haven’s no fortress,” Cullen answered after having a quick look around. “But we can try to hit that force while it is approaching. See those trebuchets over there?”

The Commander pointed at something, and Maxwell followed the direction with his eyes.

“Of course! We can try to bury some of their army under the snow!” Cassandra caught up and hurried towards the gates that separated them from the huge machines. Without thinking, Maxwell moved to follow her but was stopped when someone grabbed his wrist. He looked over his shoulder.

“We will talk when this is over,” Cullen said, looking him in the eye.

“…yeah,” Maxwell agreed reluctantly.

As he was running towards the trebuchet, he could hear the Commander calling out to the templars and guardsmen, encouraging them to protect the villagers. People were running about, trying to grab their belongings, and Maxwell hadn’t noticed at first that some of them weren’t friendly. A number of the enemy mages had already slipped through the defense, probably before the whole thing even started. Maxwell would have been hit by some of them, but his companions came to help just in time. Most of the mages ended up with arrows sticking out of their faces while others froze, covered in ice. Solas and Sera were nearby, and Maxwell could swear he’d heard Varric at some point.

“I’ll deal with this one!” Cassandra’s voice reached him. “Go check the other trebuchet!”

“Got it!”

They parted, Maxwell following the road to the next machine that was visible above the trees. As he was getting to it, however, a giant ball of fire suddenly dropped from nowhere and right on top of the trebuchet, collapsing it with a horrible rumble. Maxwell heard cries and howls of pain and froze on his spot, shocked. Thankfully, he recovered pretty fast and dashed forward: there may have been survivors, and if so, he’d need them to stay alive.

He didn’t get very far though, because the thing he saw at the very next moment made him stop motionless for a lot longer.

There was a dragon flying above Haven. A dragon. Flying above Haven.

“What the…” Maxwell watched with his eyes wide as the creature launched another attack on the village, a huge burning ball landing onto the stables and erasing everything in one quick and painful motion. Horses that had managed to survive through the attack ran out, burning like living dolls. Screams rose in volume, surrounding Maxwell and draining the remaining bits of his already shattered confidence. He stepped back, then to the side, disoriented.

 _The trebuchet,_ he managed to remember _. It is gone. I need to do something else…_

“Come back!” a voice called, and his attention clung to it desperately. It was Cassandra; she’d probably rushed to see if he survived the fire attack. Maxwell approached her quickly.

“The dragon-” He started.

“I know,” the Seeker interrupted him. “The first trebuchet is ready, we can only pray now. If the dragon attacks it-”

There was a loud thump, the nearby trebuchet suddenly coming alive. Maxwell caught the flying charge with his eyes and followed it until it crashed right into the mountain. What happened next could only be described as an explosion, which gave birth to an enormous avalanche. Huge balls of snow along with sharp pieces of rock fell on the enemy, effectively erasing a huge part of the army.

“It worked!” Cassandra gasped.

Maxwell was about to add something, but a huge shadow flashed above them once again, making the words stuck.

_Run._

It was only a brief thought, but he grabbed the Seeker’s hand and dashed from the spot, away from the trebuchet. A mere second later it was dying in fire, remaining guardsmen running with all their strength to get away.

The Seeker looked back, obviously trying to think of what to do next. The dragon that was flying about wasn’t helping at all.

“The chantry,” Cassandra finally let out. “We can try reaching it. I think the Commander wanted to turn it into a shelter if things went wrong...”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Maxwell agreed.

They ran together, trying to help as many people on their way as it was physically possible. Sometimes they just weren’t in time. Sometimes, locked in a fire trap or wounded by the enemy, people didn’t have enough strength to call out for help. And it was dreadful, all that death and destruction.

_Beautiful._

“Hurry up!” one of the guardsmen shouted, letting the survivors through the gates. As soon as the last of them slipped back into the living area, the entrance was closed for good.

Cassandra led everyone to the chantry, the dragon hovering above but not yet attacking. It probably thought of them as its little toys that could always be played with. For now it only worked in their favor.

“Move! Keep going! The chantry is your shelter!” Maxwell heard from a distance. It was a voice he knew, one that he usually disliked. However, now Chancellor Roderick was very welcomed. The man was standing at the chantry doors with the Commander, both of them keeping an eye on the passing people, making sure no enemy got inside.

As Cassandra and Maxwell were approaching, closing the line of the rushing survivors, the dragon attacked once more. Thankfully, the fire landed far from the chantry, and the villagers escaped with nothing worse than a fright this time. Maxwell was the last to get inside, and the door closed behind him with a loud thud. No one else would be coming.

It was loud and bright in the chantry, and those who survived buzzed around nervously without stopping, trying to settle or at least to calm down. It was a difficult task, however; things were going awfully bad. If they went outside, it would be the end of it. But people wouldn’t be able to stay in the chantry forever, either. Sooner or later the enemies would come and get them.

It became even worse when the Chancellor suddenly fell down and would undoubtedly meet the floor if the mage from before didn’t catch him.

“A brave man,” the mage said, holding the Chancellor upright. “He stood against a Venatori.”

“Briefly…” Roderick muttered as the man led him to sit. “I’m no templar…”

“Still alive,” Bull noted, standing up from his chair and bringing it closer to the two men. The Chancellor was carefully placed on it to rest.

Shortly after that the Commander walked up to Maxwell with a mixed expression on his face. Cullen’s hand was gripping the hilt of his sword, which probably meant he was anxious more than anything. The Commander motioned Cassandra to come closer, the other advisors following her quietly. They formed a small circle.

“We’re not doing well,” Cullen admitted hesitantly. “There’s no communication and no demands. They want us dead, no doubt about that.”

“This Elder One takes what it wants,” the mage cut in. He stood up from where he was sitting and approached. “There was no bargaining with the mages, either. And from what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all of this way to take your Herald.”

_Well, who would’ve thought…_

“What?” Cullen flinched, his eyes widening.

“Not going to happen,” the Seeker instantly refused the idea.

“Yes, except that I’ll die anyway,” Maxwell shrugged. He received a lot of disapproving stares, some of them coming from his companions that were resting nearby. He still went on. “Maybe they’ll leave you alone if I surrender. Not like I have anything else to help with, the Breach is closed and all...”

“What are you saying?!” Cassandra thundered, grabbing his arm.

Maxwell froze, realization dawning upon him. Did he just really imply he’d die for all these people? No, he said it out straight. He hadn’t even thought it through yet, but the words came from his mouth on their own. What was that, desperation? He looked down on his feet, unable to watch the advisors.

 _No. It may be a good idea,_ a thought came.

“Okay, what if I don’t die,” Maxwell said slowly, looking up. “What if I manage to… to make that Elder One go away?”

“And exactly how are you going to do that?” Solas came up, standing beside him. He looked somewhat… angry.

“And what if you can’t?” Cullen added. “That’s not an option.”

“You do realize we don’t have much of a choice?” Maxwell shook his head. “Or would you rather leave everything as it is and die? Not eager to have that talk anymore?”

Cullen’s breath hitched, his fingers clenching around the hilt of his sword.

“As if your dying would do any better…” he almost whispered. “This plan is no good. It’s not even a plan…”

“There is a path,” the Chancellor coughed, making them look back. The man was sitting with his hands pressed to his stomach, his head lowered. As soon as he spoke, the advisors came up to him and listened patiently. “You wouldn’t know it was there unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage. As I have. The people can escape.”

“Where is it?” Cassandra asked urgently. “Where does it lead?”

Roderick ignored both questions, looking up at Maxwell. There was something new in his eyes, something Maxwell had never seen in them before. No more disdain. But there was hope now.

He lowered himself on one knee in front of the Chancellor.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I don’t know, Herald,” Roderick said, his voice hoarse. It was the first time it lacked mockery when using the title. “If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

“Will you help us find that passage?” Maxwell asked.

“Yes,” the man promised, and coughed.

Maxwell nodded and got up. He shot a glance at the advisors and saw a shadow of relief flash across their faces. But it died down as soon as it had appeared. They were not certain, and Maxwell could understand that perfectly, as he could see the problem with that plan as well.

“They can spot us at some point,” he said it aloud. “Even if they don’t, there is always a chance they will come after us sooner or later.”

He raised his eyes to the Commander. Cullen looked back, and they just stood there for a moment without talking. Both knew that one of them would have to give up.

“Is there anything I can do outside?” Maxwell asked, not averting his eyes.

Cullen was silent for a long time.

“…yes,” he answered reluctantly after that, looking away. “When we were retreating, I noticed that our last trebuchet was still standing. If we manage to use it, the remains of the army will be destroyed. But Haven will be buried with them as well.”

“Good enough. I’m going out.”

“You’ll need help,” Cassandra said, confident. “Our men will help you load the trebuchet. That, and I’m coming along.”

“Me too,” Cullen added.

“No, you’re not,” Maxwell refused. The words came out so harsh even he was left surprised. “You are the leaders of the Inquisition. You have to get out of here.”

“So are you!” Cassandra objected, but he didn’t listen.

“If the enemy finds me, I may be able to survive long enough,” he said slowly. “If they find you, they won’t hesitate. It is better this way.”

“I…”

A moment passed.

“I… understand,” the Seeker agreed. It was far too difficult to read her expression. “We will do as you say.”

With that she turned around and went to gather the survivors, ordering some of the guardsmen to follow Maxwell outside. No one seemed to be thrilled by the idea, but people understood that it had to be done, and they followed. The other advisors joined Cassandra in her task, not having much to say here anyway. Only Cullen stayed beside Maxwell, unmoving. They didn’t talk.

As time passed, several assigned people passed them and stopped at the wooden doors, waiting for the Herald to join them. It seemed the time had come, and Maxwell looked at the Commander one last time.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, and somehow his chest felt too tight. But he couldn’t think about it now- not now. Maybe later, if he survived.

No response followed, and Maxwell stepped towards the exit, but once again was stopped. The Commander had a strong grip on his wrist, and he wouldn’t let go. It was familiar. Maxwell turned back, meeting his eyes and expecting Cullen to say something.

But he didn’t. The Commander wasn’t even looking at him, his eyes glued to their hands instead.

Then he let go. Maxwell waited for a while, but nothing came. His arm was free again, and the moment was over. Well.

He joined the men at the exit, and together they pushed the doors of the chantry once more, opening the half-destroyed, burning village to everyone’s eyes. Maxwell stepped out and met the night, several people with him. The doors closed.

Back in the Chantry this idea seemed less terrifying. He looked around and noticed the trebuchet at the far side of the village, behind the gates. There weren’t many enemies lurking around, and the remains of the army were scattered. Surprisingly, even the dragon was gone. If Maxwell and his men moved cautiously enough and avoided the main roads, they would be fine. Maxwell looked back at the others.

“Follow me,” he said quietly. “When we finish loading the trebuchet, I want you gone before it fires. You will have to return to the chantry, that clear?”

The men agreed, and they slowly began moving, mostly hiding in the shadows of their own houses. Sometimes the battle was inevitable, and Maxwell was glad he brought his sword along. The guardsmen turned out to be trained well enough too, so they reached the trebuchet without any losses. The men began loading it quickly, Maxwell helping them as much as he could. As soon as it was done, he sent them away and waited, hoping no one would get hurt.

Time passed. The only thing left now was activating the trebuchet. From where Maxwell was standing it was impossible to see if the men had already reached the chantry, but he could clearly hear the enemy forces nearby. He had to act before it was too late.

When he tried to begin the launch, however, the dragon appeared, choosing the worst time to interrupt. It breathed fire, and Maxwell had to run in order to save his life. He stumbled upon a large stone and fell, rolling aside just in time to get out of the fire line. It was a miracle he didn’t get hit.

As he was struggling to stand back up, a large figure appeared amidst the fire, attracting his attention immediately. Maxwell stopped moving. It was undoubtedly an enemy, yet it didn’t hurry to strike. It only moved forward, gradually gaining shape and form. The dragon was flying above, not attacking anymore.

 _A pet?_ Maxwell guessed with horror. If his enemy had a pet dragon, he was in serious trouble right now.

All doubts were erased as the figure approached, letting Maxwell grab an eyeful of its form. Maxwell had never seen anything like this. Larger and taller than any man, uglier than – no, that wasn’t the word he was searching for… The man standing in front of him was spine chilling. Disgusting. Yet somehow absolutely mesmerizing.

Maybe it was his inner demon speaking.

Maxwell wanted to ask him, ask anything. And he still had to finish his task with the trebuchet. There was so little time.

“Pretender,” the man snarled, startling him. “You toy with forces beyond your ken.”

He sounded really angry.

“What…?” Maxwell hadn’t understood it at first, but following the man’s glare he got it that the subject of their talk was the mark on his hand. “This?”

He didn’t receive a straight answer, but his enemy looked directly at the mark, and that expression was easy to read.

“I am here for the Anchor,” the man said, raising his hand. There was an orb in it, and it glowed red, ominous. “The process of removing it begins now.”

Maxwell felt his fingers start to tremble, the green glow becoming more vivid and growing wider. It didn’t hurt, but Maxwell could feel as if the mark was trying to separate from him. Yet the effort seemed pointless as it still stuck to him no matter how much time passed or how hard the orb was glowing.

“You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and stole its purpose,” the man was saying. “What marks you as ‘touched’, was meant to assault the very heavens, and you used it to undo my work.”

“Well, sorry about that,” Maxwell answered, getting a hold of his wrist.

 _Don’t talk to him like that. You’re not worthy,_ a thought flashed in his head, and he was taken aback. Envy again?

The process of removing suddenly stopped. Startled, Maxwell raised his head and saw the man come closer. It happened too fast, and a second later he already found himself hanging in the air, the man holding his wrist up. Actually, he was too big to be a simple man. Maxwell’s feet didn’t even reach the ground.

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

“Well, blame Andraste,” Maxwell answered. He wasn’t sure it was a wise idea to act like this when he was caught like a small mouse. However, he didn’t get punished.

“So be it,” the man said. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation – and _god_ – it requires. And you… would be better to kill. However.”

Maxwell felt his breath stop for a second. This was a surprise, he’d never expected the enemy to actually spare him once it decided he wasn’t needed anymore. His free hand lowered:  looked like he didn’t have to fight just yet.

“However…?” He repeated.

“However, you are already dead,” the man finished. “You have the Anchor, so be it. I will grant you another gift.”

“What…?”

What happened next wasn’t painful as well, even though Maxwell had his whole face covered by the man’s hand, and it was hard to breathe. He grasped the offending limbs, trying to break away, but it was no use. Maxwell could feel something happening, something that went straight into his head and turned his mind upside down, turning the course of his thoughts completely.

“Know me,” he could hear. “Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The _will_ that is Corypheus.”

“Cor-phmss,” Maxwell was scratching his hand now, there was hardly any air left in his lungs. At this rate he was definitely going to die.

Finally, everything stopped. The hand was removed, and he gasped, trying to catch the air with his mouth. Corypheus didn’t let Maxwell do it in peace, though, as the man simply threw him aside, and Maxwell’s back hit the side of the trebuchet. Pain ran through his body, making him tremble. Maxwell struggled to get on his feet, his chest moving erratically.

“You will kneel,” was the last thing the man said. Then he turned away and wandered off towards his dragon.

Maxwell knew what would happen next. The Inquisition was probably reaching the end of the passage by now, and if Corypheus called off the remains of his army and went back, it would be over.

He had to use the trebuchet. Watching Corypheus go, Maxwell did what he had to do.

The trebuchet fired, making the Elder One turn back. Seemed like he’d been caught unaware, but now there was nothing even he could do to stop another avalanche from hitting. The dragon roared, raising its wings, probably about to burn the annoying human. However, Maxwell didn’t wait. He was already running, desperate to get as far away from Haven as it was possible.

Which wasn’t far, because he was just a man, and no man could outrun an avalanche.

***

It was cold.

Maxwell stirred, trying to understand without looking if he was still in one piece or at least alive. Everything hurt, though, so he supposed he was fine for the time being. He sat up slowly and opened his eyes, taking in the surroundings.

He didn’t recall ever being in this place. That, or Haven was far beyond the recognizable point. There was ice all around him, some of it covered by soft white snow. At least there was no cold wind flying about and trying to make him ill…

Maxwell sneezed.

“Ugh…”

Standing up took a while. Maxwell’s body didn’t listen to him very well, not to mention his left hand that was still glowing. The mark - _Anchor,_ he corrected himself – was shining as bright as it had never been, even though he didn’t see any rifts nearby. Were there any of them left, anyway?

He stood up a few minutes later, feet feeling like jelly. Yet as Maxwell tried a step, nothing bad happened. So he took another one. And then one more. Then he was walking.

The place had vaguely reminded him of the chantry at first, but the feeling went away as soon as he passed the stairs and entered a corridor that looked suspiciously similar to a long cave. For some reason Maxwell felt nervous and reluctant to go further, even though it didn’t look like he was in any immediate danger.

“Come on,” he tried to encourage himself. “Nowhere else to go, only three ice walls behind you.”

The corridor was long and dark, but the Anchor served as a pretty decent source of light. It didn’t dim, which should have probably raised some kind of alarm, but Maxwell chose not to think about it right now; there were other things he had to wonder about. How he was going to reach the others, for example.

There was an exit somewhere close. The tunnel went up, and Maxwell saw an opening. He had no idea where it led, but hoped the Inquisition was nearby.

The mark pulsed.

 _Please, no surprises…_ Maxwell asked internally, walking out of the corridor. He ended up in a big cave, and not even a second passed before he noticed the demons. They, of course, attacked, and by the time Maxwell got out of the fight, he was barely standing. But at least he was alive, and he had enough strength to keep going.

Another corridor came, and there were burning torches attached to the walls. A thought visited Maxwell, that maybe, maybe this was the exact same passage the Commander had used to lead the survivors out of Haven. He doubted he’d find other paths with torches anywhere near the destroyed village, especially now. Clinging to that thought, Maxwell walked through the corridor, hoping that nothing bad would happen.

However, when the path ended, he found himself standing shin deep in snow. There were no more walls ahead, only a deep white sea of snow and the strongest wind he had ever seen. If Maxwell made a step forward, it would probably simply blow him away. Like a rag doll, or perhaps a paper ship. Going out there would be pure suicide. And if he didn’t get blown away, he’d freeze to death.

 _Isn’t that just wonderful,_ his mind deadpanned.

There were hardly any options. Die, or die, or die. It didn’t take long to decide since Maxwell had to move on. There was no exit behind him anyway, and this snowy desert could not be as endless as it seemed. He’d have to leave his great sword, though. It added too much weight; there was no way he would be able to move around with it attached.

_Don’t worry, your horse died anyway._

“What?”

Everything was quiet, except for the wind. Maxwell reluctantly let go and began walking through the snow, his only weapon staying behind. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the malicious wind, but it didn’t really do much, as his body was still open. At this rate Maxwell would die, all his warmth destroyed.

He needed to lift the mood somehow. He was starting to panic.

_F-find me_

_S-still searching…_

He sang quietly, his breath coming out in hot puffs and vanishing in less than a second.

_F-for s-someone_

_T-t-to lead me…_

The corridor he’d arrived through was no longer visible. Maxwell forced himself to look forward again, trying to move his legs faster. The snow surrounded him from all sides, though, and the more time passed, the stronger his panic became. Thankfully, remembering the lines of the song occupied him enough to keep walking.

He couldn’t die here. He still had to talk to the Commander.

 _Yeah he will probably get really angry if I don’t show up soon,_ Maxwell thought, his eyes searching. Nothing stood out.

_C-c-can you_

_G-guide m-me…_

Time passed. Soon even songs couldn’t keep his mind off the present. His whole body was shaking severely from cold, and he was hardly able to move his feet. At one point Maxwell stopped altogether, still in the middle of nowhere. His mind was close to shutting down.

 _The talk,_ he reminded himself and tried to make a step. He fell.

It was the coldest bed Maxwell had ever lain on, but he hardly even cared. Standing, lying – it was all the same. He was a goner.

“There he is! Maker’s breath!”

_Great. I’m hearing things…_

“He’s still alive!”

Maxwell was grabbed and turned around, his head falling back without support.

“Careful! He’s too weak!”

“We need a mage here!” Someone ordered. Maxwell couldn’t really see in such a position.

Then the world turned slightly, and Cullen’s terrified face came into view.

“Can you hear me?!” He seemed to be asking. Maxwell wasn’t sure.

Maker. Now that he couldn’t look away, he had to stare at the Commander’s face. Whatever, he was about to pass out, anyway. Could as well admire something attractive before going. The Commander had those… eyes on him. And his hair looked good. Better all ruffled than... something. Wait, did he have a scar before…? Yes, he certainly had a scar. A small one, across his upper lip.

_Niiice…_

“Come on, hold together,” the Commander said, his voice sounding muffled as if he was talking through a glass.

“Clll-lllnn…” Maxwell tried, raising his still glowing hand.

“What? What is it?” Cullen flinched, lowering himself to hear better.

“…lllnnn…”

“Yes?”

Maxwell’s hand reached up slowly, and his fingers caught the Commander’s lip, touching the scar. He pulled down a little, smiling faintly. Cullen’s face froze in a shocked and embarrassed expression, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if so, my duty is fulfilled XD Thank you for all your support, it really helped!
> 
> See you all in Skyhold!  
> …we will reach Skyhold in the next chapter, right?  
> …right?  
> D:


	7. Chapter 7

Consciousness slowly returned, and Maxwell let out a weak, shaky breath. His lips were trembling, and so were his fingers as he unconsciously tried to push away the snow that surrounded him. The man was lying face down and couldn’t really see anything beyond the wall of white, but there was no strength left in his body to move. All of it had been drained when he’d foolishly tried to cross the snow field alone and without a certain destination.

A vague memory of reuniting with the Commander was still floating about in Maxwell’s head, and at first he’d thought he’d managed to find the survivors of the Inquisition. However, there were no sounds of life flying around Maxwell right now, just the distant wail of northern wind. And he was lying, well, face in snow, so it probably meant something.

Like maybe he hadn’t reached any survivors at all. He was still lost, instead, and dying.

The Anchor was calm, not even a hint of pain coming from it. Maxwell couldn’t feel its pulse under his glove anymore. He couldn’t feel anything, actually, though was pretty sure he had to be suffering from the low temperature right at this very moment. Quite sharply, too, taking the place and his position into account. Yet, surprisingly, there was nothing. Only overwhelming tiredness.

Maxwell lay there for some time, mustering every piece of strength he could find within his being. He didn’t want to give up yet, not so soon. But when he finally tried to move, he only ended up losing the last bits of his energy. His limbs relaxed against his will, and thoughts threatened to fade away once more, almost no power left to sustain them.

Somewhere in this cold, deadly tranquility that Maxwell was unable to overcome, rose a sound of unsteady, heavy footsteps. Someone approached him, and then Maxwell was turned, very slowly. Cullen looked at him from above, and seeing him should have made the man happy, but it didn’t. The Commander’s face had an unhealthy color, and his entire form was shaking uncontrollably, snow sticking to his clothes and messy hair. There was almost no light left in his eyes.

Cullen tried to talk, but all that came out was a rough cough. Maxwell looked down, and his eyes instantly recognized a wound on his chest, visible through a hole on the steel plate. It was half covered by the Commander’s overcoat, but unmistakable, and color leaked out without stopping.

Cullen moved again, and with utter terror Maxwell realized he was barely holding up. The Commander’s body leaned sideways, and he almost fell down, yet managed to stay upright. After a moment of sitting still, Cullen carefully removed his overcoat, giving Maxwell a full view of the wound.

It was a miracle the Commander was alive.

Showing all that, however, didn’t seem to be Cullen’s main intention. The man didn’t waste much time and covered Maxwell with the cloth, trying to smile reassuringly as he did so. His face didn’t listen to him very well.

Right as Cullen did that, his last strength fled, and the Commander fell, completely disappearing from Maxwell’s view. Maxwell stirred, spending the last pathetic remains of his life to see if Cullen was breathing. Yet, anxious and scared, he couldn’t move at all, staying trapped under the overcoat. The only thing Maxwell could do was howl through his frozen lips as his eyes hurt and watered.

***

He woke up again, later, and his ears instantly caught a sound, which surrounded him and filled his ears, not getting too loud but not dulling either. It reminded him of… a union of voices, perhaps?

_The shepherd's lost_

_And his home is far_

_Keep to the stars_

_The dawn will come_

Right, a song. Somewhere close, people were singing. And judging by the sound of it, there were many.

_The night is long_

_And the path is dark_

Maxwell tried to move, and this time it turned out to be easier than before, though his muscles still told him they would disobey if he used them too much. That aside, Maxwell realized there was no snow surrounding him anymore; he was lying on something warm instead, something that clearly resembled a hard bed. And he was covered, too, with a cloth that he recognized thanks to the familiar tickling.

_Cullen…_

Maxwell gasped and was about to jump up, but his body protested, and the motion ended with a painful jerk that quickly made him accept that harsh movements were off the table for now. Maxwell still tried to lift his head and to have a look around. He’d already seen the Commander die, and that wasn’t for real. He had to calm down and see what was happening. Maybe it all had been just a nightmare.

Which seemed to be true as his eyes really caught Cullen, perfectly alive and healthy, and that happened rather fast. The man was sitting on the far edge of his bed, his mouth moving softly and eyes closed. It didn’t take much time to understand he was singing along.

Letting his head drop back on a thin pillow, Maxwell glanced at people who were scattered across what looked like a small camp and wondered why they were singing at a time like this. He liked to sing himself, but it was hardly a logical thing to do after losing an entire village, not to mention people. And even the advisors were doing this…

 _Whatever,_ he let it go with a sigh.

“You’re awake!”

The weight on the bed shifted and disappeared. A moment later Cullen appeared beside Maxwell with a look of relief on his face.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Better,” Maxwell answered, though he wasn’t quite sure about that. The nightmare was still hiding behind his eyelids, and he was certain that the image would return if he closed his eyes for long enough. That, and there was that encounter with Corifae-

_Corypheus._

Corypheus. The Elder One. Maxwell was probably obliged to tell the advisors about him. He was a new threat after all, wasn’t he. And Corypheus gave Maxwell… what, a gift? What was that gift…?

“…says there is another place we can go to.”

“…eh?”

Cullen blinked. Then he sighed and shook his head, though didn’t look angry.

“We can’t return to Haven, but Solas says there is another place we can go to,” the Commander repeated. “However, it has been a devastating day, and people are exhausted, so we will have to wait.”

“Yeah,” Maxwell nodded slightly and then pointed at the crowd. “What about this?”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder.

“What, the song?” He asked, returning his eyes to Maxwell a few seconds later. “I and other advisors had an argument earlier. To tell the truth, it is difficult to think straight after such events. A lot of people died, but many still need our protection, and we didn’t even know where to go until recently. Still not sure about that…”

Cullen let out a breath, his hand reaching out and pressing to the fur of the overcoat that was keeping Maxwell warm. The Commander’s fingers played with the hairs as he sat there, thinking.

“Got off topic,” he continued after a little while. “We were arguing, and suddenly Mother Giselle began to sing. Maybe we had been too loud and made people feel worse. Maybe she just wanted to raise our spirits. It worked both ways.”

“I saw you singing,” Maxwell said, looking up at him. “It got you deep, didn’t it?”

“Um,” the Commander quickly averted his eyes. “No.”

 _You’re a pathetic liar,_ Maxwell thought. But he supposed he could let Cullen get away with it.

Besides that, there were more important things to think about right now. Maxwell had to gather the advisors and tell them about his encounter with Corypheus, the more details the better. Everything else could wait.

He moved slowly, raising his knees and sitting up. The overcoat slid down his chest, and cold air surrounded Maxwell, making him flinch. The change in the temperature was striking; goosebumps covered the Herald’s skin under his clothes, and that made him weigh his decision once more. The hard bed looked way more appealing…

 _No, have to go,_ he reluctantly decided. _Corypheus may return._

Maxwell pushed the overcoat away.

And gasped. The Commander turned back instantly.

“What is it?” He asked, startled.

Maxwell’s eyes were locked on the cloth. There, right below the fur, was a huge red spot. Dry blood, he recognized, the same piece that covered Cullen’s wound in the nightmare.

…it _had been_ a nightmare, hadn’t it…?

He gulped.

“Commander…” He started hesitantly. “I’m sorry for asking, but how are you still alive?”

Cullen lowered his head to the side, and a small nervous smile appeared on his face.

“Should I be dead…?” He asked.

Maxwell felt his heart become heavy, its beat getting slower. He’d experienced this before. In the Fade, something he’d never be able to forget. What on Thedas was happening? At this very moment there was no way Cullen couldn’t see the blood, yet he behaved like there was nothing out of the ordinary…

The Herald’s breath was becoming erratic.

“…woah, woah, wait,” The Commander stood up from the bed and raised his hands in an attempt to calm him down. “I’m sorry if I said something inappropriate, I didn’t mean to-”

“Solas,” Maxwell interrupted him, fixed on the blood. “I need to talk to Solas.”

Cullen took a second to get his words.

“Right, hold on, I’ll go get him.”

He walked away hastily, and the sound of his footsteps against the snow drowned in a song that still hadn’t ended. The crowd was singing something else now, but Maxwell didn’t pay much attention. He couldn’t understand what was happening; he was absolutely sure he’d seen Cullen die, and now he had the very proof here, in his hands. Yet the Commander was alive. Here, at the small camp where people sang…

Maxwell shuddered, raising his hand to his face. His head hurt.

Was this…?

 _“No, this is real,”_ Cole’s voice sounded. _“The camp is. The blood is just a memory.”_

The Herald’s head shot up, and he saw the friendly spirit sitting at the end of his bed, almost touching his legs. Cole looked calm, and it was overwhelmingly relieving to see his face now, though somewhere deep inside Maxwell wandered why he hadn’t appeared earlier. There sure had been plenty of times when he was needed.

“I thought…” Maxwell started and failed to continue; he didn’t really know where to begin. Maker, that episode got him terrified.

 _“I’m here,”_ Cole said, pressing his hands together. _“Always been. But helpless.”_

Maxwell sighed. He supposed there really was little the spirit could have done against the Elder One. Earlier, they had barely defeated Envy together, and Corypheus seemed to be standing on a much higher plank.

“I’m not blaming you,” Maxwell shook his head. “Corypheus isn’t easy to deal with…”

 _“I can help now,”_ the spirit said, rising. _“You and others. Many suffer. Angry. Scared. Devastated. I can make it go away.”_

“Wait,” Maxwell caught his sleeve. It felt rather strange, yet not in any way unpleasant. “Can you tell me anything about what happened first? Corypheus told me he had a gift for me. Can you sense anything?”

Cole looked at him, silent, his eyes wide and clear, and maybe Maxwell had been right when he’d assumed the spirit could actually see through him.

 _“No.”_ He leaned a bit closer, eyes narrowing. _“Wait. Yes... Envy is no longer there. Not in your head. Gone.”_

“What?” Maxwell was taken aback. Had the Elder One taken away the demon? Was that his gift? It would make a perfect one, but why would he do that? “Are you sure nothing else changed?”

Cole frowned and closed his eyes, focusing. The wind blew from the side, making the corners of his wide hat flutter.

 _“You,”_ he said. _“You have changed. It is subtle. Difficult to pick out.”_

“Changed how?” Maxwell asked.

 _“I don’t know,”_ the spirit answered. _“I can’t see. I’m sorry.”_

The Herald lay back on the bed, letting out a long breath.

“I guess, we’ll have to wait and see,” he said.

Cole shifted forward. Maxwell didn’t pay much attention to that at first, busy with his thoughts, but then the spirit moved closer, and that was already easier to notice as they were actually touching. It made Maxwell wonder why he could feel Cole’s body if he was a spirit. Wouldn’t he be untouchable? Then again, demons were touchable. Maybe it was an ability they all shared?

The train of thought was lost when Cole loomed over him, his bright eyes looking down and into the Herald’s. Which from his angle looked quite disturbing. Especially if he chose to believe Cole was able to see through him.

“…what?” Maxwell asked, suspicious.

He’d expected an answer, but made a mistake of blinking. Without a sound, the spirit disappeared together with the uneasiness of the situation, and when Maxwell looked around to see if he was still around somewhere, he didn’t succeed. What he did see again, though, was the Commander’s overcoat that had been forgotten as soon as Cole had appeared. There was no blood on it anymore, and somehow Maxwell couldn’t bring himself to feel surprised.

He covered himself, settled against the thin mattress and waited. The Commander should have already returned, but maybe Solas wandered off somewhere, making himself difficult to find. Maxwell was able to observe most part of the camp from where he was lying, and he couldn’t see either of them.

At least the song died down, and people slowly returned to their business. Maxwell spotted Cassandra nearby: the woman was leaning over a big map and writing something on it; probably deciding on their upcoming route. Josephine and Leliana were sitting next to the campfire and talking quietly. Josephine looked completely exhausted; her small hands were pressed together tightly, and she was shivering even though a heat source was ablaze right in front of her. Blackwall walked up to them at some point and offered two mugs of hot drink, earning a grateful smile from the Ambassador and a curt nod from the Spymaster.

Maxwell’s companions were scattered across the camp. The Bull’s Chargers had a small fire of their own, and they seemed to be enjoying the situation most. It wasn’t really hard to understand: they were mercenaries, plus Haven had never been their home, so they must have been happy just to survive such a disaster.

Dorian and Vivienne were chatting in an open tent on their right, and Maxwell was once more mesmerized by how they managed to look like they were sitting in some rich estate rather than a camp in a snowy middle of nowhere. He’d known Vivienne had that in her, but together with Dorian they were just shining. Maybe it was a noble mage thing, but he still had to figure that one out.

Varric was writing. He settled far away from everyone else; not to be disturbed, evidently. Sera came to ruin his concentration a couple of times, but he just shooed her away. The elf girl didn’t look frustrated with him, though.

No one had noticed the Herald was in full consciousness yet, and Maxwell was quite satisfied with it, however he knew he would have to gather the advisors as soon as Cullen returned. He kept lying there silently, waiting for the Commander. Which took a few minutes, and it turned out to be enough to lull him back to sleep, so when the man returned with Solas, they had to wake him up again.

As soon as the Herald opened his eyes, Cullen gave him a puzzled look. Maxwell had no problem getting it: after all, the last thing the Commander had seen before running off to look for Solas was his terrified face. It should have surprised him when he returned to find that Maxwell had dozed off while he was gone.

“I’m here,” Solas said meanwhile, leaning on his staff. “What is it bothering you?”

The man took a moment, catching his consciousness and briefly considering if he needed to tell the elf about everything. Cole had managed to calm him down somewhat, and he really didn’t want to look all weak and scared.

“I think I’m suffering from some sort of illness. Or magic,” he answered after a while. “Probably both.”

Cullen frowned, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“What can you tell me about it?” Solas asked, frowning as well.

Maxwell shrugged slightly, throwing a glance at the Commander’s overcoat.

“Not much,” he said, trying to avoid going into details. “To put it shortly, I had a dream where the Commander died from a stab wound to his chest.”

“Ah...” Cullen nodded. “I see.”

“And then?”

“And then I woke up and saw blood on his overcoat,” Maxwell raised the cloth and unfolded it so both the Commander and Solas would see it better. There was a moment of silence.

“There’s no blood on it,” Cullen noted, his stare sliding from the cloth to the Herald’s face.

“Exactly.”

“So you don’t see it now?” The elf asked.

“No,” Maxwell confirmed. “Cole came earlier. He told me it was uh…” What did he call it, a memory? Maxwell scratched his head, trying to understand what that could mean. He didn’t have much success in it, though. Whatever. “He told me it was just a memory. Not sure what that means.”

“A memory,” Solas repeated. “Interesting.”

“A bit way too terrifying, if you ask me,” Maxwell added. “And then there’s also Corypheus…”

The elf’s eyes shot up in alarm.

“Corypheus?”

“Yes, the Elder One,” the Herald said. “I encountered him when I was trying to fire the last trebuchet. It looks like he left me with a gift, although I don’t have a slightest idea of its origin.”

“This can’t be good,” Cullen cut in. “Do you remember it clearly?”

“Not really. He just did something to my head and went away.”

“Just… went away?” the Commander lowered an eyebrow. “He left you live?”

Maxwell let out a small laugh.

“Kind of unexpected, right?” He shrugged once. “That’s about it. I still fired the trebuchet to make sure no one would follow and ambush you, and then tried to follow you myself. It is really stupid, now that I’m thinking about it.”

He turned to Solas, waiting for the elf to say something. He did seem to be interested in hearing about the Elder One, judging by his reaction to the name. However, the elf just stood there, looking to the side, and his expression was unreadable.

Maxwell lowered his head a little, wondering if he was worried.

“I got it under control,” the Herald said just in case it would ease the tension in the air somehow. It was a terrible lie, but he hoped his little act wouldn’t damage anything seriously.

Yet even as he lied, when Maxwell looked at Solas or Cullen, he saw shadows of uncertainty, and while the elf seemed more or less organized, the Commander obviously stayed nervous. He may have been like that because of their long suffering friendship... And it was a sign of weakness that Maxwell would prefer not to see.

“I’ll tell if it gets worse, yes?” the Herald said, raising his hand and placing it on the Commander’s shoulder. Cullen flinched and looked at him. “Besides, we still have to reach our new home. Which reminds me…” He turned his face to Solas again. “I’ve heard it was you who found a place. Where are you leading us?”

The elf took a moment to process the question and then smiled. It was a little smile, and his eyes reflected the still ongoing ponderation.

“You will see,” he answered. “It is a good place, one that will suit the Inquisition perfectly.”

Maxwell frowned, watching the elf. Somehow, it felt strange. He could’ve sworn he liked surprises, especially good ones and most especially after having survived a wipeout of an entire village. Yet right now he couldn’t bring himself to smile or to let it go, he wanted to know everything, and he wanted it _now_. The Herald blinked, not exactly certain about what he was feeling.

It was supposed to be a simple change of subject, so why was he feeling annoyed?

“I wonder what happened after you fired the trebuchet,” the Commander said thoughtfully, pulling him out of it. “I found you in a strange state of mind, so to speak… which is explainable, but...”

“Uh…”

Maxwell blinked, trying to remember. Now that Cullen raised the question, he couldn’t quite recall the details of the reunion itself. The vivid part of his memories ended somewhere mid snow field, when the Herald had been singing.

_Maker…_

“What did I do?” He asked, suspicious.

Cullen bit his lip, looking away, and somehow that felt familiar. Maxwell found himself wondering if it was a good time to remove his hand from the Commander’s shoulder. It had been a reassuring gesture at first, but now its meaning seemed to have changed without him noticing. He waited for a moment, and then his hand slid down and retreated.

“What did I do?” The Herald repeated.

“Nothing much,” Cullen shrugged, avoiding his eyes. He obviously regretted staring this. “You fainted as soon as I found you.”

“And you call it a strange state of mind?”

The Commander’s attempt at escaping was so evident that even Solas gave a quiet chuckle. Maxwell caught it and stared at the elf.

“You know something?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

Solas held his stare for some time.

“…no,” he then answered, and turned to leave.

“Wait, where are you going!” Maxwell protested, wondering once again if the elf had to wait that long before answering. Did he think it was funny? They were supposed to be discussing important things here…

“I am not the one who should be answering your question,” Solas glanced back at him. Maxwell pursed his lips.

_Damn it. He is probably right._

“I will gather the advisors. You can have your time until then,” the elf finished.

The Herald watched him go, an uneasy feeling squirming in his gut. When he returned his eyes to Cullen, the man was looking down on his hands, and it was as clear as day that he was uncomfortable. Once again Maxwell was facing the fact that he’d seen this before, only this time he was the one on the receiving end.

“Looks like we’re back to it, eh?” He started carefully. This was a fragile thread here that could easily snap in two if he made a wrong step. He’d done that already, and it cost him his friendship with the Commander. Or that was what he believed in, at least.

Cullen looked up at him hesitantly.

“Yes,” he gave a short answer.

Then he fell silent, and time went on, leaving less and less opportunity for them to finish with whatever was going on. Maxwell sighed.

“Look, you have a choice here,” he said, and his voice lacked confidence he’d hoped to hear in it. “You can keep it to yourself now, and I won’t ask about it. Or you can tell everything and try figuring it out with me.”

“I…”

“Or maybe you would prefer to show me?” Maxwell snorted quietly, finding the idea funny and at the same time ridiculous.

“You are familiar with this,” the Commander ignored his offer, though his expression suggested it had hit him. “Back then I couldn’t think about anything beyond finding out. Now I’m ready to do everything to keep it a secret.”

The Herald leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. It seemed like this thread was far easier to break than he’d expected, and somehow it really irritated him. He’d done this. Stepped over himself and told Cullen about the events at the Fade. Showed him his vulnerable side and got kicked in it. Well, at least now he knew the Commander learned fast and from mistakes of others.

But no way was the Herald of Andraste giving up so easily.

“Did I kiss you?” He asked, looking directly into Cullen’s face.

The man all but jumped on his spot, his eyes widening.

“What? No!” He gasped. “That’s not it!”

Some people turned their heads to them, startled by the loud sound of his voice. Cullen coughed and had to raise his hand to show everything was alright.

Maxwell chuckled. It was a relief; a kiss was the worst thing that could have happened.

“Then there’s nothing to be all worked up about-”

“You do remember I only loved once,” the Commander interrupted him. “I don’t have much experience, and I’m not used to…”

He fell silent abruptly, and Maxwell swore internally.

“To what? Touching?” He tried. And again, judging by Cullen’s sudden change of expression, he hit the right spot. The Commander sighed and lowered himself, placing his elbows on his knees and watching the ground. “What did I touch? Your face?”

A low groan was all answer he needed.

“I touched your face!” Maxwell repeated louder, happy to have guessed. His happiness, however, was short-lived as realization hit him mere seconds later. “Wait, I did?”

Cullen tore his stare from the ground, slightly annoyed.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked.

“How about ‘Hey, remember that time when you were almost dead and your hand happened to fall on my face?’”

“You can imagine me saying that?” the Commander frowned.

“No, not really,” Maxwell agreed. Solas looked at him from the campfire where he was standing with the advisors, and the Herald shook his head. He needed more time. The elf nodded and turned back to the others. “But I still don’t see why you should be so sensitive about it. I was out of my mind. That touch was not intentional. And I don’t even think it was anywhere near intimate.”

Cullen snorted.

“What, it was?” Maxwell asked. He was suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

“You could say that,” the Commander answered, watching him. “I told you I can only offer friendship. But you… Have you been thinking otherwise? _Are_ you thinking otherwise?”

“What?!” This conversation just went somewhere Maxwell hadn’t expected it to. “No, I’m not thinking otherwise! Why would I? You were my friend! And damn it, I hope you still are!”

“A friend?” Cullen repeated with a grain of mistrust in his voice. “The demon showed-”

“Who cares about the demon!” Maxwell snapped. “You are my friend! I’ve never had any, of course I would cherish you! The demon must have misunderstood…”

The Commander watched him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open but not letting out a single sound. He was shocked. The Herald didn’t notice anything anymore, though, and words continued flowing.

“I’ve never loved you. Never loved anyone. You can’t decide on your own about how _I_ feel.”

Anger clung to his words like hot venom, and his body was shaking. Maxwell wasn’t even sitting anymore, both his feet anchored to the ground but ready to dash away whenever their owner decided it was time to.

“I-” Cullen started.

“No. Enough of this,” Maxwell hissed, taking a step backwards. “I don’t want to talk about this, ever!”

He moved towards the campfire, both devastated and furious, and part of him expected the Commander to make an attempt at stopping him because that’s how Cullen usually acted. However, only a single question followed after him this time; a question that he barely heard, yet it was enough to hit him with the force of a direct strike of lighting.

“If you never loved, how can you be sure you know what it feels like?”

Maxwell froze on his spot. Then, without looking back, he continued walking.

***

The weather was calmer the next couple of days. Wind was still following the survivors of the Inquisition, but it wasn’t violent anymore, and walking across the snow turned out to be much easier. However, people had no horses or other animals to aid them in carrying all the supplies, so it took time. Maxwell didn’t feel frustrated with that; he was only glad he made it to the survivors at all. They had a destination, and there was no Breach looming menacingly over their heads, so they had time.

Solas had brought them to a big road and was now leading them towards their new home, though almost everyone thought it was the advisors who led them. The elf didn’t mind stepping back as he realized that people would much rather follow the leaders of the Inquisition than him. According to Solas, the survivors would have to cover quite a lot of distance before they reached the place.

People sang most of the time. It helped keeping up good spirits and supported the Inquisition as a whole. Maxwell sang along sometimes, though mostly just listened. Somehow, singing didn’t feel as pleasurable as before… or maybe he was just fed up.

He mostly stuck to his companions, trying to avoid the advisors. They never broke their small group of four, and walking with them would mean walking with Cullen. Maxwell had no such desire for now as he was still angry and frustrated with their last conversation. And it wasn’t only the Commander he was blaming, because he’d run away himself. Cullen had been the one to find him, the one to lend his clothes to keep the Herald warm. He’d run to find Solas as soon as Maxwell asked him, hadn’t even asked questions. He’d been kind. He’d been a good friend. Was.

Maxwell sighed, locking his eyes on the Commander’s back.

He’d been too harsh. Did it really take a single question to make anger flow in his veins instead of blood? Maxwell could have answered calmly, he had always been capable of holding it together. Then why had he lost his temper?

Of course the Commander hadn’t been entirely right as well… or so the Herald preferred to think. No one had pulled all those assumptions out of his mouth, after all. And the last question was just ridiculous.

Wasn’t it?

He frowned.

“You wear that face too much,” Varric chuckled. “Might forget how to change it if you continue.”

Maxwell flinched and looked to his side. The dwarf had approached him at some point, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s not like I can control it,” he said, trying to put on an easier expression. He failed at the task. “Something is bothering me, Varric.”

“Well, why don’t you share it with someone then?”

“It’s… not an easy topic.”

The dwarf gave a short laugh.

“When was the last time anyone had an easy topic?”

The Herald shrugged. Maybe Varric was right about that… But he could hardly imagine himself approaching, say, Cassandra and asking her what love felt like. She would definitely start getting weird ideas, and even if she wouldn’t see the question as flirting, she’d probably understand whom Maxwell had in mind. The rest of the advisors would undoubtedly get the whole- _wrong_ image as well.

As to his companions… well. Maxwell didn’t really trust most of them as he hadn’t had a chance to know them better yet. He only trusted Solas and Varric, and he supposed the elf wouldn’t be much of help in this.

“Varric…” He started hesitantly, not looking at him.

“Yes?”

“What do you think… love feels like?”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of constant steps surrounding them. Maxwell threw a quick glance at the dwarf, saw him looking back with an amused smirk, and looked away quickly.

“Don’t,” he said, feeling utterly embarrassed.

“That’s your uneasy topic?” Varric asked, and the Herald could almost feel his smile physically.

“Well it is for me,” he muttered, feeling completely uncomfortable. “I already regret asking. You’re making fun of me.”

“No, no, I’m not!” Varric objected. “And besides, I’m an expert. You’re not the first one asking me this.”

Maxwell brought his stare back to the dwarf, slight surprise reflecting in his eyes.

“Really?” He asked. “Who was the first one then?”

“Heheh. A friend of mine back in Kirkwall,” Varric answered, his smile widening. “He used to have a lot of trouble with women.”

 _The Champion of Kirkwall, perhaps?_ Maxwell wondered, remembering what little he knew about his companion’s past. He knew Varric had spent most of his life in the city, but somehow he doubted that meant he had a lot of friends there. As far as he knew, Kirkwall was a nasty place. Then again, Varric had told him before that it didn’t really matter.

“Does he look that bad?” the Herald asked.

“Oh, no,” the dwarf smiled. “He is actually pretty handsome.”

“What was the problem then?”

“Well,” Varric stopped talking for a moment, thinking. The more he thought, the more warmth flickered in his eyes. “He usually ended up in trouble everywhere he went. Couldn’t even make himself a cup of tea without creating a mess... The most unlucky person I have ever met. But no matter what happened, he always managed to stay alive somehow.”

“Oh, I see,” Maxwell nodded. “So women didn’t like him because he was a walking disaster?”

“Actually, that hasn’t quite changed yet,” Varric said. “I guess he had enough with them at some point. So one day he comes to me and asks me what true love feels like…”

That promised to be interesting, though Maxwell really wanted to know who they were talking about. And yet he didn’t dare to interrupt the story now.

“Turned out he developed some strange feelings towards one of his…” The dwarf broke off, looking at the ground. “…loyal companions.”

His smile became softer and then almost disappeared.

“He told me that the feeling he was experiencing differed from everything he had ever felt. It was stronger. Louder. Made him intoxicated and terrified. He asked me if it was real love.”

 _Sounds more like an unhealthy dependency,_ Maxwell thought.

“What did you tell him?” He asked aloud.

“I didn’t really know what to say at the time,” Varric admitted, looking up at the Herald. “It may sound easy now, but the way he said it back then made me forget the entire language.”

“I have hard time picturing that.”

“Yeah. But anyway, I had a lot of time to scratch my head over it,” the dwarf continued, and Maxwell noticed that his fingers squeezed the hilt of his crossbow tightly, “and I believe he may have given me the most accurate description.”

“Love is intoxicating and terrifying?” He summed up.

Varric shrugged slightly.

“I’m not saying you won’t meet someone who’ll make you feel all fuzzy inside,” he said. “But from what I know and experienced, love is all about how much pain you can eat before breaking in half. It may start nicely, but that doesn’t mean it will end nicely as well.”

“I see,” Maxwell sighed. That explanation he’d just heard sounded a lot sadder than he’d hoped. “And what about the man we’re discussing, did he at least succeed in the end? With that companion of his?”

It took some time. Varric didn’t rush to answer, but his mood seemed to change to the better side again. And when the Herald looked at him, everything became clear.

“He did.”

_Just don’t ask who-_

“Is that Hawke we are talking about?”

_Damn it._

The dwarf gave a short laugh.

“Maybe.”

After that they both silently agreed on not pursuing that line of conversation anymore. Maxwell slowly returned his eyes to Cullen’s back and wondered if what he was feeling towards the Commander fit the Champion’s description. He wasn’t sure he was intoxicated yet, but he had been terrified a couple of times. The Herald didn’t quite understand what ‘terrified’ meant in terms of love, though.

It led him nowhere, and he only felt frustrated.

 _I should just leave it for now,_ he decided after a long while. _I will have plenty of time to think about it later._

Watching the Commander talk to the advisors, he briefly wondered what would happen next. Maxwell wasn’t sure how, but he wanted to make things right. What happened at the camp had been a mistake; he’d let his anger take control over him and probably offended Cullen. The man hadn’t tried to talk to him ever since. Not even once.

He’d have to do something about that. If he really cherished whatever it was he and Cullen shared, he’d swallow his pride and make the first step.

Absorbed by his thoughts, Maxwell didn’t at first realize the crowd was slowing down. He only raised his stare from the ground when Solas placed a calm hand on his shoulder.

“Look,” the elf said, pointing forward with his staff. “We have reached it.”

The Herald narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the mist that was surrounding the snowy hills and mountains before him. It took time, but he managed to notice rough shapes of massive walls hidden in the middle of the stillness. Maxwell held his breath. Looked like they finally reached their new home, and _dear Maker, it looks enormous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. A bit of frustration here.
> 
> When I published the previous chapter, some words were automatically removed, and it slightly damaged one of the plotlines. So, if anyone still remembers, there was this piece of text:
> 
> “They ran together, trying to help as many people on their way as it was physically possible. Sometimes they just weren’t in time. Sometimes, locked in a fire trap or wounded by the enemy, people didn’t have enough strength to call out for help. And it was dreadful, all that death and destruction.  
>  _Beautiful._ ”
> 
> The last word was removed, erasing Envy’s (?) appearance and a piece of progress in this plotline.
> 
> This doesn’t make me happy, of course. I found other bits missing, but nothing major. Gotta keep an eye on it.
> 
> __
> 
> Now with that aside I want to say that you guys are awesome, and your support does wonders sometimes (like making me write 4k words in a day. In foreign language). Thank you, seriously. Thanks for spending your time reading this story, thanks for writing comments; I have lots of pleasure answering to you.
> 
> I also want to thank my best friend Elliot for reading each chapter together with me before I post them (his English is no better than mine, but whatever XD). He tends to read them in a very funny or over-dramatic voice and makes lots of jokes while at it. This makes the “beta process” totally hilarious. He also helps with finding gaps and plot holes, both greatly and gently, so if he wasn’t there, this fic would’ve probably been unreadable.
> 
> Lots of thank yous to you all and hope you liked the chapter! :3


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks had passed. The survivors of the Inquisition hid themselves among the massive walls of the Skyhold fortress, their new home. It was undoubtedly a safe place, but together with safety came countless holes in the ceilings and damaged inner walls, most of which needed serious repair. The floor offered a variety of gaps as well, and in the basement area it was absent altogether, nothing but misty air and rocky mountain sides visible if someone dared to take a look down.  Making a wrong step would end with a long flight.

Most furniture was damaged beyond help, and rooms were filled with rubble. The piles continued to grow steadily as some parts of the fortress were too timeworn and simply fell apart, often startling the new inhabitants. Numerous doors were broken or blocked, and what was left after the previous owners couldn’t be used anymore.

When the Inquisition had arrived to the place, Maxwell expected people to start complaining, but to his surprise everyone went straight to business instead. Even his companions didn't hesitate putting their weapons aside to take tools and instruments. The advisors got a firm commanding grip on the process of reconstruction, yet they too could be seen aiding the others physically sometimes.

Everyone had something to do. Everyone except Maxwell.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to help. On the contrary, being constantly pursued by gloomy thoughts that lurked in the back of his consciousness, Maxwell actively looked for work. He didn’t care if it was difficult, at that point even washing the entire set of floors would do. His health had been wavering from bad to worse, however, and in order to keep the Herald off his feet Cassandra had to lock him up inside his small room. Maxwell had no choice but to accept it, and it would be a lie if he said he didn’t understand her motive: after Haven his dreams took a habit of turning into nightmares even without Envy's presence, and because of that he had trouble staying upright during daytime. And when he was awake, his eyes resumed playing tricks at times, seeing things that weren’t there (the latter wasn’t something Maxwell preferred to dwell upon, so he kept most of it to himself, giving only Solas and Cassandra the general idea).

He also started to experience strange mood swings, which he managed to hide or control so far (though mostly because he was still forbidden to go out, and there was no one to get on his nerves). The Herald could suddenly find himself angry over the smallest things, and it hardly made sense. Anger came rushing and then evaporated as quickly, leaving him puzzled because he was sure he’d used to be much calmer before. Cole helped sometimes, but seemed to be unable to determine the main source of this problem.

People that came to visit Maxwell in his room and weren’t aware of his encounter with the Elder One assumed he was just tired both mentally and physically after surviving Haven, and hearing that had made him feel slightly better at first, but eventually began to irritate him as successfully.

The thing that was capable of driving him completely mad, though, was the fact that he still hadn’t had a chance to talk to the Commander. Cullen was always busy, and that was probably the reason of him not showing up. Or maybe he was still offended... Maxwell couldn’t be sure until he saw the man’s face, but sadly, Solas stayed as his healer and was always nearby, insisting on dealing with Maxwell’s health first. Trying to get to the bottom of the Herald’s ‘illness’, the elf made him drink strange herbal concoctions several times a day, performed all kinds of recovery magic from time to time and even visited the man in his nightmares. It helped keeping anger at bay and dimmed the effects of other unpleasant symptoms, but in terms of overall curing they were stuck.

At the beginning of the third week, when the Herald opened his eyes from yet another nightmare that featured a horrible torture, he understood they’d failed to proceed. Again. Letting out a sigh, Maxwell slowly sat up in his bed and pressed his face to his knees, wondering if they would at least let him take a walk in the courtyard today.

Visitors didn’t take long to appear. Mere minutes later the front door opened with a heavy creak, and suddenly the presence of life that was blooming outside the room became impossible to ignore. Distant sounds of working hammers and saws mixed with loud enthusiastic chatter and flew into the room together with a soft breeze, making Maxwell drop his shoulders in frustration. Birds were chirping loudly, a dog barked happily somewhere, and grass in the courtyard looked so green that he wanted to jump up and run out and join everyone, unwell he was feeling or not.

As usual, Cassandra and Solas were the first ones to check up on him, but something out of the ordinary seemed to be happening as the Seeker lingered outside, looking to her left with a complicated expression. With a sharp feeling in his chest Maxwell realized that there was someone else visiting with them today. Someone who had a reason to come all the way here and still hesitated at his very doorstep. Not even once he had witnessed Cassandra bothering to lure people into his room. The man didn’t enter, however, didn’t even show himself, and yet had been given away completely. After a short moment of talking to the third person Cassandra sighed, shook her head and followed Solas into the room, closing the door behind her. Sounds of life died as soon as it hit the frame. Maxwell lay back down on the bed, looking at the wall to hide his expression.

 _You’re a coward,_ he thought, and a grim feeling stung him while he was unprepared. Despite being quick, it felt overwhelming, and the Herald was glad he’d turned his face away just in time. Otherwise, both Solas and Cassandra would start getting ideas, and he didn’t want to deal with any of that right now. He was barely able to carry the weight of his own assumptions, returning to the Commander’s question all the time. Yet the Seeker had to be suspecting something if she tried to bring Cullen along. Maxwell didn’t know how to feel about her action: guilt, anger and shame were equally strong.

“Your connection to the Fade has become stronger,” Solas said instead of a usual greeting, and the Herald had to look at him to not seem ignorant. Thankfully, the sting had already passed, and his expression returned to carefully neutral. “However, the link is damaged, and your mind is suffering under its pressure.”

“Great,” the Herald muttered and then added louder, “Anything we can do about it?”

“The treatment is helping you, fortunately,” the elf answered, leaning onto his ever present staff. “I am certain that will not be enough in the future, but we have time to look for a proper cure.”

“We’ve talked to the other mages,” the Seeker added, sitting down on a worn armchair that was standing in the corner of the room by a small window. “Without diving into much details, of course. They agreed to help.”

Solas frowned, and it didn’t take much wisdom to understand that he would rather work alone.

“They are powerful,” Cassandra said, missing that incidentally or on purpose. “And hopefully, they will be able to find a cure soon.”

“Meanwhile,” the elf coughed, stealing the Herald’s attention back. “I assume it is time for you to start going outside.”

Maxwell felt his eyes widen both in surprise and excitement. He hadn’t seen most of the fortress so far, and staying in one room for more than a week was starting to feel like a torture.

“I-”

“But there are two conditions,” Solas interrupted him efficiently. “Firstly, we will continue with the treatment. Which means you will have to be here at certain times and have a lot of rest as well. Secondly,” his expression became more serious if not darker, “you should avoid being depressed. Or any other negative emotions for that matter. And shock will probably undo everything we have already done. You need to be careful.”

“Right,” Maxwell nodded eagerly, though in reality all he could think about was getting out. “No sticky situations, I promise.”

“Good,” the elf said and straightened up. “I will take a walk with you right now if you don’t mind. There are still some things we have to discuss.”

“Wait,” Cassandra asked, raising her hand. “I also need to have a word with the Herald. In private, if I may.”

She looked at Solas, and after a moment he nodded, getting her request.

“Of course,” he agreed and turned back to Maxwell. “In that case, I will wait for you outside.”

“Yeah, okay.”

As soon as the door closed, Maxwell threw a glance at the Seeker, silently asking her to turn away as he still needed to put on some clothes, and he’d prefer to do so as fast as possible. However, Cassandra only returned his stare, obviously not getting his point. He sighed.

“Can you turn away so I dress up?” He asked aloud, feeling kind of shy even though he’d already had to do this in front of her once.

“Oh, right,” she flinched slightly and did as he asked. While the Herald was running from one place to another, looking for his clothes, she cleared her throat and resumed talking. “I had a talk with the Commander.”

Maxwell froze on his spot next to the dresser.

“Yes? What exactly did you talk about?”

“About your relationship. First day you stick together, and nothing can separate you. Second day you avoid each other as if meeting will instantly kill both of you.”

“Heh.”

A soft rustling sound indicated that the Herald had finally found what he was looking for. Having put on clothes and the belt fixed, Maxwell walked to the door where his boots were waiting.

“We’re having hard times,” he let out, putting them on. “I snapped at him two weeks ago.”

“I guess… that would explain why he never came into this room,” Cassandra said thoughtfully.

“No,” Maxwell disagreed. “It doesn’t explain anything. He knows my health is poor these days, and I thought… I hoped he’d find enough strength to forget about what happened.”

_But obviously he cares more about himself than about me._

A spark of anger flashed in his thoughts, and Maxwell tried to calm down before it would morph into a flame.

“He tried to,” the Seeker said. “He really did.”

“Yeah, today,” the Herald agreed. “That makes one time. And he stayed outside because… I have no idea why.”

He really didn’t want to talk about this. Solas had said it was forbidden to experience too many negative emotions, and here he was trying to dive into them not even ten minutes after. He opened his mouth to ask Cassandra to let him deal with everything, but the Seeker was faster.

“No, before that,” she said, and Maxwell felt his words get stuck in his throat.

“What?”

“Many times, actually,” she added more quietly. “First week he came every day. He never entered this room, but he was here.”

Silence followed,effectively pushing the anger away. Maxwell was so surprised that he forgot he was lacing the second boot.

 _So the Commander had been nearby,_ he thought. Cullen hadn’t been offended. Even if he had been, he still tried to stay close.

…somehow, this information only added to the weight.

“He was supposed to be the first one to take a walk with you today,” Cassandra continued talking, pulling Maxwell out of his thoughts. “But he hesitated outside your door.”

“I see.”

“This may not be my concern, but…”

“It’s okay,” Maxwell said, giving her a small smile. “I’ll find him today. We’ll talk. I promise.”

Cassandra nodded.

“Good.”

“Is there anything else?” he asked. ”Solas is probably getting impatient...”

“Ah, no, you can go,” the Seeker answered. “There is another matter, but it can wait for a few more days. Thankfully, we seem to be doing fine for now.”

“Okay,” Maxwell nodded. “I’ll see you later then.”

Barely able to hold down the excitement, he got to the door and opened it wide. A horde of sounds embraced the Herald instantly, but he was only happy. The air was fresh, and the sun was high, warm and friendly. Maxwell breathed in deeply, happy to be free.

“Aaah…”

Solas chuckled quietly from the side.

“Just… just give me a second…” Maxwell asked, still bathing in all the life around him. A minute or so later he finally turned to the elf. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”

“Follow me,” Solas said.

They walked through the courtyard, and the elf didn’t bother to continue talking as the Herald kept staring around and looking at how the reconstruction was going. Maxwell had to admit that the fortress was looking much better than it had been when the Inquisition had arrived. At least that’s how it seemed to be on the outside. The courtyard was filled with grass and bushes, and numerous trees were present, though he didn’t remember seeing them here before.

If Maxwell looked back, he could see the new stables, and to his relief they weren’t empty. It seemed the advisors had little problem getting support after moving to Skyhold. He also noticed that people increased in number, which probably meant the Inquisition had become much more attractive than before. It wasn’t a big surprise: they closed the Breach, after all. And survived the destruction of Haven after that.

As he was staring at the new stables, Blackwall appeared from inside the nearest house and waved in a greeting. Maxwell did the same in return.

“Here,” Solas led him to a narrow stairway that kept close to a high fortress wall. They got up and ended in a small area that was covered in grass and bushes as well, and then the elf stepped towards another set of stairs. It seemed he wanted to go all the way up. Maxwell followed quietly, still looking around as much as he could.

Many steps later they got onto the battlement and slowly continued walking down the broad walkway. Maxwell could see everything from up here: all the people working or building, all the horses, all the trees and benches and even Cassandra who was practicing combat skills with the Bull next to what looked like an armory. And as Maxwell watched at it all, he suddenly understood why Cullen could’ve been eager to take a walk with him today. Maybe the Commander would have led him to this very place and shown him how good the Inquisition had endured the hard times. Maybe he would’ve said it had all become possible because of the Herald.

Maxwell halted his steps, feeling anger spark in the back of his mind again. But it calmed down quickly as he remembered what the Seeker had told him back in his room.

“Do you enjoy it?” Solas asked from the side, and he flinched. Maxwell somehow managed to forget that he wasn’t alone.

“The view? Yeah... I’m sorry,” he said, throwing a quick apologetic glance at the elf. “What did you want to talk about?”

The elf didn’t look like he was offended. Instead he stepped closer and pointed at the Herald’s hand with a curt nod of his head.

“Earlier you mentioned that Corypheus carries an orb,” he said in a calm voice. “The one he used trying to remove the mark from your hand.”

“Yes, I did mention that,” Maxwell confirmed. “What about it?”

Solas resumed walking slowly, and he followed, waiting for an answer.

“The power he used against you. It is elven,” the elf went on. “Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.”

That was the first time anyone had bothered to come up with an alternative reason for said explosion, and it didn’t seem to have anything to do with the Herald of Andraste, which made Maxwell’s lips twitch in a small smile even though the subject of their talk was serious.

“After seeing what he is capable of, I am hardly surprised,” he said after a short while. “I mean, he even has a pet dragon.”

“He shouldn’t have survived.” Solas shook his head. “I do not yet know how he managed to… nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the orb’s origin.”

“…oh. That’s not hard to predict,” Maxwell dropped his head. His smile faltered and disappeared as he got the elf’s point. “The elves already have it hard. If people find out about this, well…”

“This is why we need to prevent this distraction. Corypheus may think he uses the Tevinter magic, but it was built on the bones of my people.” This time it was Solas who stopped walking. “By using the orb, he risks our alliance, and I cannot allow it.”

“Yes, I understand,” the Herald nodded, coming to a halt as well. “We’ll find a way to protect the elves.”

Solas bowed slightly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Maxwell leaned down on the massive stony parapet, returning his eyes to the courtyard below. He didn’t recognize this part of the fortress, but that was beyond the point now. Working hard, there were a lot of elves helping with the reconstruction. Thin and fragile, they were doing the same tasks as grown bulky men, and it didn’t look like they were complaining. And the Herald was sure that if something happened, an elf would find help in face of a human.

_A lot of these humans lost their families. They are nothing but broken shells trying to find a meaning for their lives._

Maxwell frowned.

_Just imagine what would happen if they found out. They’d go wild…_

“I have to return. Be sure to come back in an hour too.”

_They’d lash out on the poor elves. Maybe even kill them. This picture of peace is more fragile than thin glass._

If Maxwell wanted to protect this peace, he’d have to make sure no one found out about the orb’s origin. This meant he needed to keep his mouth shut and pretend that the previous conversation had never happened.

Speaking of which, he wondered why Solas thought the explosion at the Conclave had happened because of the orb. The elf had sounded so certain, and Maxwell was so used to just believe in everything he said, that not even a shadow of doubt had crossed his mind at the time. But now that he was thinking about it, how could Solas have known?

“I have a question,” he started, raising his head to look at the elf.

However, no one else was present. Maxwell straightened up and looked around quickly: the surface of the broad battlement he was standing on went so far he should have been able to see the elf… unless he took stairs down. And there were at least three stairways nearby. The Herald stared down at the courtyard again but failed to find Solas among the people working there.

Had he just left while Maxwell wasn’t looking?

“Oh, come on,” the man said, sudden realization of another thing rushing to him. “I have no idea where I am…”

He looked around again, trying to determine the way he and Solas had come from. The closest stairway looked familiar… but the next one farther away had that effect too. And the Herald didn’t recognize anything below the wall. The front gate was out of the view too, but maybe if he walked a little farther, he’d be able to see it and find his way back. Or he could do a rational thing and ask someone for directions…

But maybe this was what he needed, instead. A calm walk around the fortress that would eventually lead him to his living place.

Or have him lost forever.

Maxwell chuckled at the last thought and went down the walkway, passing the first set of stairs. This promised to be interesting at least.

 _I have hours until sunset, anyway,_ he thought, _so I can allow myself to look around more, right?_

He kept walking, looking down at the people below and thinking. He’d have to ask Solas a few questions when they met again, and there was also… the Commander. Maxwell had promised Cassandra to talk to him, and he also wanted to do it himself. Things had been going really poor between them lately, and the Herald missed the old days so much… he’d have to find a way to work things out. Cassandra was right: this situation was destructive. At least for him. But deep inside Maxwell hoped he wasn’t the only one.

Those thoughts didn’t linger. The Herald should have been more cautious, probably, because a moment later he ran into someone, throwing them both off balance.

“Owowow…” The man before him staggered, and the hood of his short dark cloak fell down.

Maxwell tumbled down and was already opening his mouth to hiss at the stranger for not looking where he went, but all the words stuck to his tongue as soon as he saw the man’s face.

He had to admit he’d rarely seen such handsome faces. The man looked young, but somehow Maxwell doubted he was: young faces didn’t have that touch of dignity that appeared with years. His short black hair stuck out at all sides because of the way the hood fell down, yet somehow that only added to his charm. The man also had short stubble that matched his hair and made him look even messier, and eyes that had something hard and at the same time comforting in them.

Watching him, the Herald completely forgot what he’d wanted to say. It didn’t seem to be a problem, however, as we man started talking himself as soon as he got his balance back.

“Oh, I’m so very sorry,” he apologized, offering a hand. Maxwell grabbed it without much thinking and soon was on his feet again, shaking off the dirt.

“No hard feelings,” he said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

The man still bowed quickly with a quick ‘sorry’ and straightened up again. Then, without saying another word, he started walking away in the direction he came from, and went down the stairs. Why he did so only Maker could know, and Maxwell was left speechless. He approached the parapet and followed the man with his eyes, and not even half a minute later the stranger bumped into someone else and staggered again. After that, of course, he was bowing and apologizing. Which looked kind of hilarious because ‘someone else’ turned to be an elf girl, and she did absolutely the same.

 _They’d make a good couple,_ Maxwell smiled unconsciously.

_Yeah. Unlike **us**._

He blinked, and the smile slid off. The Herald didn’t know where that one had come from, but somehow he was sure he’d meant it, for whatever reason. Letting out a heavy sigh, he averted his eyes from the two still messing around on the stairs and resumed walking. The sun was high and warmed Maxwell’s back pleasantly, but he didn’t pay much attention to it.

A part of him insisted on returning to his room. Solas usually gave the Herald medicine and performed recovery spells at around dinner time, and Maxwell didn’t want to make him angry, sad, or what could be even worse, offended. But another, less rational part demanded something else. Like finding Cullen and attempting to talk to him. Immediately.

_Maker, how I miss him._

The thought was so clear and sudden it hit Maxwell like a brick in the face. He froze on his step, and his memory rushed back to the times when they had trained together, laughed together and had been able to share secrets without turning backs to one another. When had it changed? How hadn’t they noticed? Had ‘love’ anything to do with it?

“Stop it,” Maxwell whispered, but he couldn’t stop recalling what he was missing, and his legs began moving without him noticing. Lost deep in his memories, the Herald walked, and then walked some more, and he only stopped when an obstacle appeared on his way. A door. Maxwell must have wandered too long if he ended up in front of a guard tower.

 _Might as well walk through it,_ he shrugged and pulled the handle. _Should be another exit on the opposite side._

A thought about knocking first came a bit too late.

“…do whatever it takes. And I must have the report uh…” Cullen trailed off, looking extremely surprised. His wide eyes locked on Maxwell’s face, “…as soon as possible,” he managed to finish. The agent he was addressing to bowed and hurried to exit through another door.

As soon as he left, everything fell silent. Cullen continued facing the empty air where the agent had been standing a few seconds ago, and he didn’t try to start talking. Well, that was understandable. After all, Maxwell was in the same state of shock at the moment, and it was absolutely clear neither of them was anywhere near ready to strike a conversation. Even the Herald couldn’t do as much as utter a single word despite being desperate to talk less than a minute ago. He kept a hold on the door handle, not sure if he wanted to stay or to run as fast as possible.

“I…” He tried and failed miserably. But at least the Commander unfroze, dropping his head to look at the papers that were scattered all across the table. It didn’t look like he was focused enough to read anything right now, though.

After a long and way too awkward moment of silence Cullen finally looked up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting right now?” He asked, and his voice felt so tense one would probably be able to cut through iron with it.

 _That’s it?_ An unpleasant thought lurked in Maxwell’s head, and he frowned. Not ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit you while you were ill’, not ‘I’m so happy to see you’, not even ‘Hi there’. Nothing of that sort; the Commander had just hinted that the Herald had to be staying elsewhere. Not here. Good hit.

“Solas let me take a walk today,” Maxwell answered, hiding his hands in his pockets. Fingers clenched into fists, and the left one glowed with a faint green light, attracting Cullen’s stare instantly.

“I see,” the Commander answered. “If you wanted to talk, I uh…”

He bit his lip.

 _He wants me out,_ a thought surfaced. Persistent.

Maxwell didn’t rush to answer. He wasn’t blind, and what he was seeing here didn’t make him happy. He hadn’t expected the Commander to want him away at all. Any thoughts of apologizing he might have had before evaporated, but he was still standing on his spot for some reason.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. If only Cullen tried to make a step towards him instead of pushing him away… Everything could go a lot smoother.

The Commander lowered his head to the side.

“I have a lot of work to do,” he said calmly. “If you are not certain…”

_He wants me out…_

Anger appeared again, but together with it came inability to understand, sadness and sudden pain, and Maxwell didn’t know what to do anymore. His mind chose to listen to the Commander and made him want to just disappear obediently, yet his legs were sewed down to the floor, preventing him from doing so. The Herald squeezed the door handle tight as his body was suddenly too heavy, and he needed support. Cullen noticed the change and started walking towards him, but halted as the man raised his hand, asking him to stop.

“I don’t understand,” Maxwell said after a while, having miraculously taken some of his emotions under control. He straightened up and looked Cullen in the face. “I had to stay in bed for two weeks. Everyone came to visit me. Everyone but my friend.”

The Commander flinched.

“I wanted to apologize for snapping at him earlier, but did you know? Being forced to stay down is equal to having no chances at talking. My friend didn’t show up even once,” the Herald continued, his voice shivering slightly. “Why didn’t you come? I was waiting for you.”

“I…” Cullen trailed off again, and silence lay heavy between them.

_Why won’t you confront me? Why won’t you say I’m wrong?_

The Commander had actually tried to visit Maxwell a lot of times, and he must have had a reason to do so, right? Maxwell failed to understand why he was trying to keep it a secret. He failed to understand why Cullen wanted him to go away. As he failed to understand the purpose of the question that had been asked about three weeks ago when he’d hoped to cut off a needless line between the Commander and himself.

_Wait…_

_Just wait a second…_

The Herald froze completely. Even his breathing stopped as his heart skipped a bit.

“I know that you tried,” he said slowly and in utter disbelief.

“What?” Cullen gasped, taken aback, and his eyes locked on Maxwell’s.

“I’m not stupid,” Maxwell added, not averting his stare.

He should have run when he had a chance. Right now this situation was bringing him nothing but shock and denial, and those were forbidden feelings. He’d never recover this way.

However, there was no way back now, and he needed to confirm his suspicions.

“You come to visit me but hesitate at my doorstep every time,” the Herald started. “When I tell you that you never came to visit me, you stay silent even though you, in fact, did come.”

The Commander gulped, but didn’t try to cut him off.

“You decide that I’m in love with you because some demon made a mistake. And even though I say it’s not true, you decide to believe _the_ _demon_. And keep believing it.”

At this Maxwell let out a short laugh because now, when he was saying it aloud, it sounded both so stupid and hilarious.

“I-”

“But listen to this one, it’s really something,” he cut Cullen off. “When I say that I don’t love you and I didn’t love anyone before, you have a chance to let me go and be _done_ with this stupid subject forever. But what do you do?” The Herald lowered his voice. “ _If you never loved, how can you be sure you know what it feels like?_ ”

Cullen stepped back. It didn’t look he was getting it yet, but that was fine: Maxwell didn’t get it either until now.

“You know, I spent two weeks trying to figure out why you did that to me. Made me think in that direction on more than one occasion. All those friendly matches, revealed secrets and your clothes that kept me warm when I’d managed to survive the enemy attack…”

The Commander’s face still didn’t reflect any understanding, and it made him chuckle.

“What I’m saying,” Maxwell stepped closer, “is maybe I’ve been looking at all this from the wrong perspective. Maybe it is not me who is in love. Maybe it is _you_.”

The Commander flinched again, more violent this time, and his eyes widened with an unreadable and chaotic emotion. He took another step back and opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

“I can’t believe it took me so long to figure this out,” the Herald laughed out, but there was no happiness in his voice. “No, wait, what else did I expect? I don’t know what love feels like, after all!”

“You’re wrong…”

“What was it?”

Maxwell fell silent, looking at the Commander with incredulous eyes. No. He was absolutely sure he was right. He had to be right.

“I only loved once,” Cullen spoke up, straightening. He was very good at taking himself under control. This one, however, seemed a little bit too shaky. “That hasn’t changed.”

“You seriously believe in this?” Maxwell sighed.

“Yes,” the Commander nodded. “Towards you, I never meant anything but friendship. I only wanted to help. As a friend.”

Confident or not, it looked like Cullen believed in what he was saying. Ridiculous.

“And have you ever questioned the nature of your helping motives?” Maxwell felt his eyebrows rise. “Because in the right state of mind no person would ask me that question about love without actually wanting me to break my head over it.”

“I didn’t want to-”

“You did. And this is not the first time,” the Herald stepped closer again. Cullen all but snarled, moving back. “So how does it feel? My deciding for you.”

“Go. Away.” The Commander hissed. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s hardly a surprise,” Maxwell shrugged. “You didn’t want to talk to me before as well. That hurt me a lot, just so you know.”

He came to a halt a step away from Cullen, and the anger that was radiating from the Commander was already easy to feel. They shared it. Maxwell raised his hand and placed it on the man’s shoulder, making him jump on his spot. That brought back memories.

“Love or not, there’s an easy way to find out,” he said. “I’m going to try something and sort things out, how about that?”

“Wh-”

Earlier, when Maxwell had caught himself looking at the scar that was crossing the Commander’s upper lip, he thought it looked weird and wondered how the man had gotten it. He’d never thought about touching it, though.

Right now he could feel it twitch slightly, and then Cullen’s lips froze, closed firmly against his mouth. The Commander’s eyes squinted shut in disgust, and that was all the Herald got before he was pushed away roughly. He barely managed to stay on his feet.

“What are you doing!” the Commander shouted, his face red from both embarrassment and fury. “Why?!”

The question felt like a slap in the face, and Maxwell touched his cheek, dumbfounded.

_Why did I do that, again?_

“I… I…” His mouth opened and closed, not able to produce any coherent words.

What on Thedas was he thinking?!

“I wanted you to… get it…” he stuttered helplessly, not sure about anything he was saying.

Cullen breathed in and out with anger, growling. Then, a brief second later, he suddenly launched at the Herald. Maxwell was nowhere near prepared.

***

“I snapped! I’m sorry!” Cullen’s voice rose from behind a wall, making Maxwell’s eyelids flutter. The Herald tried to open his eyes after a moment, but a warm hand pressed to the upper part of his face, preventing that action from happening.

“Don’t,” he heard Solas say.

The man tried to say something in return, but sharp pain filled the muscles of his face when he moved his lips. Maxwell had to stop.

“You snapped?! You broke his nose!” Cassandra’s voice thundered from behind the same wall. “What could he ever do to make you act like that?!”

_Well that explains the pain._

Maxwell let out a small sigh, trying to not panic ahead of time. Solas took his hand away to continue whatever he was doing there.

“Do not worry. It will heal smoothly,” he promised. “But be aware that you have broken both rules and got hurt as well. We will have to see how this affects your health.”

Not to feel negative emotions. Not to be late for medicine. Easy.

 _I’m such an idiot…_ Maxwell thought. Now that his head was cool again, he was scared of recalling the past events. And future didn’t look bright as well.

“I didn’t mean to break anything!” Cullen’s voice sounded again, nervous.

“Good to know!” Cassandra thundered in response.

She was scolding him, and the Herald would have smiled at that if he wasn’t in a bad situation himself. To distract his mind from sad thoughts, Maxwell tried to find out if anything else was damaged. His hands and legs seemed to be attached so far, and there was no sign of pain anywhere besides his nose. That probably meant he’d been out after a single punch. Like a small girl.

Having to stay emotionless on the outside was starting to get difficult.

“He brought you an hour ago,” Solas said calmly, drawing Maxwell’s attention on instant. “Before that he hit you once and knocked you out.”

 _So it really was a single punch…_ The Herald thought grimly.

“Your nose is broken, but it will get better soon,” the elf added. “It will be the same as before in a few days.”

Maxwell couldn’t answer verbally, but he managed a small nod. The door handle turned at the same time, and he froze, feeling his heart start beating faster. The door opened, and footsteps rose one after another. They stopped at his bed.

“Will he be okay?” Cassandra asked, her voice filled with worry.

“Yes,” Solas answered. “His nose will be healed completely in a few days.”

“Good,” she said, and then sighed heavily. “I wish it didn’t come to this…”

Maxwell lay on the bed quietly. He wasn’t sure he could manage to bear the Seeker’s attention right now. Thankfully, Solas hadn’t said anything about him being awake yet… though judging by the silence that followed, he wasn’t interested in talking at all.

“Did the Commander tell you why he hit him?” Cassandra asked.

“No,” the elf answered simply, and Maxwell wondered if that was true.

“I see,” the Seeker said.

Then everything fell silent again, and for several minutes the three of them simply existed in the room. Solas was doing something, and the pain wasn’t as present as before, for which Maxwell was thankful. He still lay motionless, not wanting to move until Cassandra left.

The door handle turned again. The Herald gulped slowly, making sure he breathed as quietly as possible. He knew who the next person was.

“How is he?” Cullen muttered, entering. Maxwell was right.

“Alive,” Cassandra said, and there was a shadow of anger present in her voice again.

Solas ceased the healing process for a moment.

“Have you brought the herbs?” He asked.

“Yes. Here, take them,” the Commander answered.

A sound of soft rustling followed, and Maxwell felt something pressing against his face again. But not herbs, that much he was sure of.

“Good,” the elf said. “You both can go now.”

“But…” Cassandra started.

“It is important,” Solas cut her off. “I will let you know as soon as he wakes up.”

After a long pause that screamed with hesitation, Maxwell heard them both leave. Only when the door closed he was able to relax. He didn’t know if Solas made them both go away for that purpose, but at any rate, that was a huge relief.

“Thank you…” The Herald whispered.

“No talking,” the elf said. “You need to rest.”

Maxwell nodded faintly once more and closed his mouth, letting Solas work in peace. But now that he wasn’t talking and his attention had nothing to turn to, he began recalling things that had happened not so long ago. He remembered the Commander’s face after that… _thing_ he’d foolishly done, and his insides twisted unpleasantly. Maxwell was such an idiot, listening to his emotions when he could hardly control them.

“No, that won’t do,” Solas said.

The Herald was about to ask what the elf meant, but his consciousness suddenly became too heavy to bear, and he had to let go of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey!.. eheheh.  
> I'm sorry I took so long! But I hope this chapter will make you happy- eh... well.  
> I'm sorryy XD


	9. Chapter 9

They ran.

Blood was oozing from countless holes that dug into pulsing walls and a low meaty ceiling, and even the floor was corrupted and mostly deformed. Both Maxwell and Solas tried their best not to step into the disgusting mess, but there wasn’t much time to watch out as creatures were following them, and they were following fast. The corridor seemed to be a death trap with no turns or doors, and thick red fog stood like a solid wall up ahead.

“Gaah!”

In his hurry the Herald stumbled upon a lump of flesh and would undoubtedly fall down if his hand didn’t reach the floor first. With a soft sound it slipped right into one of the holes, met something in the shifting depth and crushed it with uncontrolled force. A warm, squishy movement under Maxwell’s fingers made him yelp and yank his hand back.

Solas halted next to the man’s shuddering form and grabbed his elbow, pulling him forward.

“No time,” he breathed out.

The Herald gathered all his manly will to not throw up right there as his fingers were now covered in something filthy. He quickly followed the elf, rubbing his hand frantically against the fabric of his shirt.

Sounds from behind grew in volume, signaling the approach of the enemy. Constant and steady, they were rising from under numerous fleshy legs of giant meat spiders, and it would not be a problem if there were a few of them around, but there were hundreds crawling against all possible surfaces. Which wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing about it all was that Maxwell and Solas were about to lose the last of their strength, and the enemy didn’t look tired at all. At this rate, the outcome would be quite painful.

Maxwell was devoured by fear and exhaustion, and he ran without looking back. So when something abrupt happened beside him and Solas’s hold was suddenly lost, he was caught unaware.

“What the…”

He turned halfway to look at the elf, and what he saw made his heart drop. It was too late; Solas was surrounded by ugly creatures, lots of small spiders rushing to his legs and going up his skin with an incredible speed. Solas looked utterly disgusted and tried to shake them off.

“SOLAS! NO!”

The Herald reached out in an attempt to grab the elf’s wrist, and there was a brief moment when he thought he’d manage to. But when Solas raised his hand to meet him, the nearby hole in the floor suddenly shifted and widened, swallowing the Herald whole. Everything went dark.

_No! Please no!_

Maxwell flew down in pitch black for a long time, wailing, and when he reached the floor, his hopes to survive crashed against it together with him. Only fear was left, and he lay where he landed, shuddering uncontrollably. Solas was dead. Soon he would be dead too.

And as if fate was laughing at him, a door opened nearby. Maxwell went completely still, praying to Maker that the intruder would lose interest and simply go away, but no matter how hard he tried to seem non-existent, his heartbeat and heavy breathing were pretty good indicators. He stirred quietly to calculate his options and found himself trapped by the floor. Fear grew wider.

_It’s going to find me… Maker, it’s going to find me, and then I’m dead…_

Small steps sounded like thunder. Maxwell gasped, his defense mechanism going berserk as soon as he realized someone was actually trying to reach him. He started to thrash around, legs kicking wildly, and by some miracle the Herald even managed to hit the stranger when he approached. With a gasp the intruder tumbled down to the floor.

“Hey, calm down!” A familiar voice ordered. “It’s just me!”

Maxwell’s body jerked, and he slowed down his frantic movements as his surroundings began to change. The temperature dropped, unnatural sounds disappeared, and the air felt cleaner and easier to breathe in. He moved again, and it turned out to be a much easier task.

 _Wait… I was… It’s... wasn’t I in a…_ Thoughts rushed about in his head, unable to find their proper places.

A long moment later the Herald’s face appeared from under the blanket, his eyes still glassy and horrified, and his lips trembling. He didn’t notice the visitor right away, despite looking straight at his direction.

 _Where am I…?_ A question rose among others.

“In your room, as usual,” the voice answered. He’d asked aloud without noticing..? “Where else would you be?”

Maxwell blinked and looked around. He was sitting on the floor of his room, true, next to his bed, and the blanket was covering his thighs and waist. It had been a nightmare, yet again. The Herald straightened his back, and his eyes shot up, catching Varric into view.

“Hi,” the dwarf said with a small smile, though it was somewhat strained. “Nightmare problem?”

“Yeah…” Maxwell nodded wearily, raising a hand to his face. “I was…”

His hand halted.

_No. Can’t talk to Varric about that._

“…seeing things,” he finished. “Can’t remember any of them now, but they sure were scary at the time.”

“I see,” Varric said, yet his expression suggested he didn’t fully believe into that. The dwarf got back to his feet and shook the dust off his clothes. “Well, you should get more sleep. I’ve heard the Seeker is planning something for you this morning.”

“I… what…?” Maxwell asked absently.

“As much as I’d love to share this with you, she’ll-”

A loud thump interrupted the dwarf as the door flew open, revealing Solas at the entrance. The elf stood there with his chest heaving and eyes narrowed, but putting that aside, looked pretty much alive and healthy. He stepped into the room and folded his hands across his chest.

“I-” Maxwell started.

“What are you doing here?”

_Eh?_

It took a moment to understand that Solas was not addressing him. The elf’s eyes landed not on him but on Varric, and they shared a long stare. The dwarf then beamed and pointed at Maxwell with a nod.

“Came to save a damsel in distress,” he answered lightheartedly.

“What?” Solas frowned.

Varric sighed, shaking his head. ‘Even you could get that one,’ his eyes read clearly.

“He screamed in his sleep,” the dwarf explained, and Maxwell coughed in embarrassment. “I happened to be nearby, so I decided to check up on him.”

The elf nodded.

“I see.” He approached Maxwell and sat beside him, pressing a hand to the Herald’s forehead. Maxwell brought his knees to his chest, not certain what to do. “I’m here now, so you can go.”

Silence followed, interrupted only by soft rustling as the blanket slid to the floor. The dwarf remained on his spot, his eyes locked on Maxwell’s face. He’d probably stopped seeing the man’s nightmare as a usual one as soon as Solas came in with all his attitude…Temperature checking aside, the elf slept far enough from Maxwell’s room to miss the scream, and when he’d appeared to check up on the man’s health, he was exhausted. Varric wasn’t stupid, and judging by his hesitation to leave, he’d already made a chain out of rings.

The Herald appreciated the concern, he really did. But he also knew he wouldn’t be able to talk to Solas about anything if Varric stayed. While the dwarf was a good friend, Maxwell believed it would be better to keep his problems to himself. So he tried to keep an easy face.

“Solas will keep an eye on me,” he said softly. “You should get some sleep too, Varric. It’s pretty late, right?”

“Well… I guess so…” The dwarf said reluctantly. “But are you sure you want me gone?”

‘Want me gone.’ He saw through that, then.

“Don’t say it like that,” Maxwell made a face. “I’m fine, and I have a healer with me. What can go wrong?”

The dwarf shrugged.

“Have a good night,” the Herald pushed. “Come talk to me tomorrow after Cassandra finishes with me, yeah? I’m sure it will be something to joke about.”

“Yeah,” Varric smiled. That didn’t look like a real smile, but at this point even a fake one would do. “Good night, then.”

With that he finally left, leaving Maxwell alone with the elf. By the time the door closed, Solas had already finished with the check up and was now resting in the armchair with a thoughtful expression. Maxwell moved to the bed and lay down, exhaustion worming its way through his body now that things were settled.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said, barely audible.

Solas looked up.

“I was not in any danger,” he answered simply.

“But there were all these spiders…” Maxwell objected. They had looked like a big danger to him. The chase had been a long one, and it had a purpose, right? “How can you-”

“Don’t.” The elf raised his hand. “We have a more important matter at the moment.”

Maxwell closed his mouth obediently: he couldn’t argue with that. Tonight was the first time a nightmare managed to separate them; before, no matter how scary or difficult things may have been, he and Solas had always managed to stay together, even if Maxwell ‘almost died’ in the end. But not this time. Did that mean they were getting weaker? And what could be trying to separate them if there was no Envy anymore?

“Do you feel anything new in you?” Solas asked, clasping his fingers together.

“Uh… I’m not sure… Let me see…”

The Herald looked down at his crossed legs in concentration. He was still feeling down because of the chase, and his body was exhausted from continuous insomnia, but other than that everything seemed to be in order. No arguing with himself, no seeing things that didn’t exist, no anger, nothing. Even the mark was pulsing steadily as if trying to support him.

“No, nothing has changed, I think,” he said after a while. “That’s good right?”

Solas rubbed his chin with his long fingers.

“We yet have to learn about that,” he answered.

“Yeah…”

The elf didn’t rush to speak further, and Maxwell was so used to his presence already that he let himself turn to the wall, pondering. When his thoughts returned to the chase- no, even before that, if he looked back at all the nightmares he’d seen, he found himself wondering if he’d made a mistake by simply enduring them. Maxwell had been able to become a skilled warrior only after overcoming a great deal of obstacles, and he knew nothing came without a price. So maybe this was no different? Maybe he had to stop depending on Solas entirely and try doing something himself? Surely there was something out there that would make him mentally stronger.

“Solas,” he called quietly, not turning back.

“What is it?” The elf asked.

“Do you think there is a way to make me stronger?” The Herald wondered. “That would make it easier to fight with my illness…”

Solas kept silent for a long time. Maxwell was already thinking about asking again by the time the elf actually answered.

“The nature of your illness is not an ordinary one. While I think there may be a way to boost your defence against it, I am not sure it will not affect your sanity.”

Maxwell shifted until he was facing Solas again.

“There is a way?” He asked, his voice nervous but excited.

“Yes,” the elf nodded. “I wouldn’t be so hopeful, however. It implies the usage of a dangerous power, and no one knows how you will react to it, considering your state.”

“Oh…”

Hope didn’t die, but it became weaker. Maxwell sat up and hugged his knees, putting his chin on top of them. A dangerous power sounded… well, dangerous. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyway; Maker knew how much time would pass before Solas was unable to help, and then everything would be lost. Saying no to the power would only be wise if a better option existed, but both the Herald and the elf knew that wasn’t true.

“What is the power you’re talking about?” Maxwell asked, and hoped to gods he wouldn’t regret this.

Solas pressed back into the armchair, pressing the tips of his fingers together.

“You already know what it is,” he said. “Your family had been using it for a very long time.”

“My fa-”

_Templars. He is talking about lyrium._

Maxwell trailed off and frowned. Sad memories of being forced into becoming a templar suddenly appeared before his eyes, and he’d expected panic to rise from the depths of his consciousness, but somehow that didn’t happen. There was only bitter amusement: he’d done so much to escape that fate, and it just came back to stab him while he wasn’t looking.

“You’re saying I have to become a templar?” The Herald asked.

“I am saying that lyrium can make you stronger,” the elf answered. “But we do not know the origin of your illness, so it can break the remains of your resistance to it as successfully. As to the means of getting it, the concern is yours.”

Lyrium. He’d heard about lyrium. Had seen both his father and brother taking it. As far as he knew, it helped to resist and dispel magic, and every templar had to use it in order to guard or confront the mages successfully. That looked like a reasonable option in his situation: both visions and nightmares appeared after the encounter with the Elder One, and it was highly possible they were a result of a magic spell.

“So lyrium will make things easier?” Maxwell asked.

“Possibly.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I didn’t want to turn to it at all,” Solas sighed. “Until today. We got separated. It is not a good sign.”

“Yeah, I figured,” the Herald muttered. So he had been right. Nightmares had managed to make him weaker…

“Others are looking for a way,” the elf continued, “but they won’t find it. If there had been a proper cure, I would have already found it. Every suitable medicine there is, all of it has already been used.”

“I see.”

_That’s it, then. I’ll have to become a templar. Easy._

Maxwell groaned. The day had not even started yet, and he’d already found out he’d have to begin the templar training, fallen Order or no. Solas did imply that it wasn’t necessary to become a templar in order to take lyrium, but while in theory that looked acceptable, the Herald doubted it would be that easy to realize. The advisors were managing the Inquisition, and even if Cassandra agreed to help him get lyrium without raising much noise, they still would find out sooner or later, especially with Leliana’s agents lurking all over the place. And then he’d have to explain. No, becoming a templar would be a wiser choice.

“Okay, let’s try that,” Maxwell said. “I’ve been through the Fade and the attack on Haven. Maker, I even lived through Cassandra’s fury! I can manage some lyrium just fine.”

The elf nodded.

“Very well.”

***

Cassandra came the next morning, looking rather determined. A week had passed since the Herald’s nose got broken and fixed, and now he was good enough to go outside again. At least that’s what the Seeker’s eyes seemed to saying as she smiled, standing at his doorstep.

“Today is an important day,” she said.

“Good morning,” Solas greeted her from the armchair, and the woman flinched. She obviously hadn’t expected to see him so soon.

“Uuuughhh…” Maxwell tried to hide his head under the blanket. The past few hours had been spent in another round of recovery spells; this time the elf took twice as much time as before, and he hadn’t let the Herald sleep while he’d been casting. Maxwell had been allowed to doze off later, but he never got deep into slumber. That was probably why Cassandra sounded so loud right now.

“I want to sleep,” he muttered. “Just give me another week…”

There was no answer for a while, and the Herald decided to use it to his advantage. His fingers gripped the pillow tightly, and he pressed it to his head from above, blocking the annoying sounds from the courtyard. His consciousness began to drift away once again, body surrounded by welcoming warmth of his comfortable bed, and he sighed in relief-

“WHAT?!”

Maxwell jumped up from the bed, startled.

“I just want to sleep!” He answered, loud and irritated, and then realized that the Seeker wasn’t even looking at him. She was focused on Solas instead.

“Please, keep quiet. That is not a public matter,” the elf said calmly. His lack of reaction seemed to affect Cassandra as she coughed, trying to calm down. Then her eyes shot to the side, landing on Maxwell. He gulped.

_This is not good…_

“You,” she said, taking steps towards him. As soon as Cassandra was close enough to talk without being loud, she continued: “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It depends on what you’re talking ab- oh. _That_ ,” he understood, recalling the events of the night. “No, I’m not sure at all. But it’s not like I have other options here.”

Cassandra watched him with a frustrated expression, all previous content erased from her face. Maxwell wondered why she was behaving like this; hadn’t she gone through a similar training once? It didn’t make any sense as to why she would be against him doing the same.

“You do not need to worry yet,” Solas said. “His will is strong, and he is not struggling alone.”

The Seeker looked over her shoulder.

“Are you sure? I do understand that the illness is getting worse, but that means he will need a faster training! The Herald is already weak, and this might make it even worse...”

_No. That won’t do._

“Hey, look at me,” Maxwell said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Cassandra looked at him, still uncertain, and he had to smile to erase that. “Don’t worry. We’ve got it under control. I promise.”

The Seeker sighed.

“…okay. I will arrange that,” she finally agreed. “But if something goes wrong, you will tell me, is that clear?”

The Herald chuckled. First Varric, now Cassandra; he had no idea why people suddenly started to care about him so much, but it would be a lie if he said he found it unpleasant.

“Yeah,” he said aloud and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. That seemed to work, and the tension somewhat lifted.

“Well, then,” the Seeker said. “You have surprised me this morning, Herald. It is my turn to surprise you next”.

“What is it?” Maxwell frowned.

“Come with me,” she said and stepped towards the exit. “Oh, and put something on.”

“Eh?” He blinked and looked down. Clothes. Of course.  “Ah, right. Hold on.”

The Herald came to the dresser and bent to pick a change of clothes. A cough rose immediately from behind, making him straighten up and look back. Cassandra was facing the door now, and Solas looked him in the face with a serious expression.

 _I should have told her to turn away,_ Maxwell guessed. _Well, it’s not like she’d never seen me in my underwear, anyway…_

“Ready,” he said after a couple of minutes. “Let’s go.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. There was not even a shadow of embarrassment on her face now. As soon as they reached the door, she beckoned Solas. “Come with us.”

The Seeker didn’t need to repeat; Solas stood up silently and followed them into the courtyard.

As soon as they got outside, Maxwell had to cover his eyes because the sun was so bright it hurt them. Cassandra gave him a moment to recover and then continued walking, not bothering to talk yet. She kept quiet for some time, and that gave the Herald an opportunity to look around: the courtyard hadn’t changed much, yet for some reason there were a lot more people moving around today. He spotted Bull and Sera at the entrance to the tavern but didn’t raise his voice to call them as it looked like they were busy arguing. A few seconds later both stepped into the building and disappeared from his view.

“I had a speech prepared,” the Seeker suddenly stopped, and Maxwell’s attention clung to her instead. They halted at the beginning of the steps that led to the castle, and Cassandra raised her head to look at it. “About how you managed to come all this way and helped to seal the Breach and heal the sky.” Her eyes returned to the Herald. “Surely you realize by now that you possess traits and skills that allowed you to survive and reach our goal?”

_Where is she going with this…?_

Maxwell hadn’t expected her to start praising him so openly all of a sudden. It had never happened before, and knowing that only made him feel more nervous. But then again, he’d just decided to become a templar. What could ever beat that?

 “Well, I would have died if I had tried to do that alone. In the snow field, during the enemy attack, even before that,” he answered. “I would have been long gone if the Inquisition hadn’t been there.”

“This is why I decided not to bother with the speech,” Cassandra said and nodded at the stairway. “Let’s go.”

They went up the stairs, and as soon as they reached the top, Maxwell spotted sister Leliana standing there with a long sword resting on her hands. Birds chirped happily, jumping at her feet.

_Wait a minute…_

He turned abruptly to the Seeker.

“Are you saying that-”

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra nodded. “And you have proven that you can do it perfectly.”

_Maker!_

Maxwell felt his jaw drop. That’s it, only a few minutes ago he’d been completely sure that becoming a templar would be the event of the year. Now he wasn’t so sure… Making him the Inquisitor though, what was the Seeker thinking?

Maxwell glanced over his shoulder at Solas and saw him watching the ground. It seemed like he had already accepted the turn of events, and he didn’t look displeased.

“Did you know?” Maxwell asked him quietly.

The elf looked up.

“Yes.”

“I see…” The Herald turned back to the women. “But doesn’t my illness worry you? I mean, if it gets worse, I…”

The Seeker raised her hand, asking him to be quiet.

“No, it won’t get worse,” she said. “We have a way out. And do not expect everything to fall on your shoulders; technically, not much will be changed. But… you will get a much larger room to sleep in if you agree.”

“I… oh.”

A larger room. He _had_ to accept this position.

However…

“Everyone agreed to this?” He asked, wondering if Cassandra would understand who he was talking about.

The Seeker’s sigh was almost imperceptible, but it told him she did understand.

“I will not lie to you,” she answered. “Handing this power to anyone is troubling. But come closer to the edge and take a look down.”

“Hm?” Absent-mindedly, Maxwell did as she asked. And froze. There were people below - a whole horde of them standing down in the courtyard and looking right into his face. The Herald swallowed, trying to put his thoughts in order; _that_ he had not expected. Even his companions were standing among the others, Iron Bull and Sera included- wait, why were they standing there? Hadn’t they just walked into the tavern?

“I…” The Herald mumbled.

The Spymaster took the man’s surprise to her advantage and placed the sword into his obedient hand. Maxwell squeezed the hilt without noticing.

“People have seen your doings,” Cassandra meanwhile continued, her words going right into his heart. “They believe in you. And so do I. For better or worse – we still have to learn. But I want you to know that this decision feels right.”

Still shocked, Maxwell opened his mouth and closed it, unable to answer. He’d never expected such a day to come. He’d never thought he’d become a man whom the Inquisition would desire to follow. Yet there it was: so many people were standing below him with hope and recognition in their eyes. So many chose him as their leader. It made him feel…

_Powerful._

The Herald cleared his throat, suddenly thirsty.

“I…” He licked his dry lips and managed to tear his stare from the crowd, turning to face Cassandra again. “I want to… I want to do it. I want to lead the Inquisition.”

The Seeker smiled.

“Then it is yours. How it will serve, how you lead: that must be yours to decide.”

_Yes. I will decide. I will lead it._

Maxwell smiled, walked up to the edge again and raised his sword. The movement was sharp and forceful, and it felt like he’d cut the air. Cassandra stepped beside him and shouted:

“Have our people been told?”

“They have,” Josephine’s voice rose from below, and somehow knowing that she was standing there as well made Maxwell even more content. “And soon the world.”

The Herald looked down again, following the woman’s voice but failing to find her in the crowd.

“Commander, will they follow?” The Seeker asked loudly.

The fingers on the hilt twitched and squeezed it stronger. Maxwell opened his eyes for real this time, his searching becoming much, much quicker.

 _Cullen is here,_ a hopeful thought flickered in front of the Herald’s mind. _He came to support me? He must have… He…_

Then Maxwell saw the Commander. The man was standing next to Josephine in the courtyard, and both were looking at him. But while the Ambassador’s face shone with joy and happiness, Cullen looked…

_Oh no… He hates me._

Maxwell breathed out as a long, invisible needle slowly pierced through his chest. He’d known the Commander for quite a long time, had trained with him, went through troubles with him, argued with him, even kissed him once… but he had never seen him wear such a face. The Commander’s eyes were cold and showed nothing but well-controlled anger, and his hands were folded defensively across his chest.

As soon as Cassandra asked her question, however, both his face and posture miraculously changed. If Maxwell hadn’t seen him before she did that, he’d never guess what Cullen was thinking.

The Commander turned to the people, who had enough sense to give him some space, and asked them as loudly:

“Inquisition! Will you follow?”

Shouts rose, everyone giving their firm approval.

“Will you fight?” Cullen continued, pacing in front of them. Maxwell found himself hypnotized, following his every step.

“Will we triumph?!” The Commander shouted, and the crowd emitted an entire storm of support, raising their hands up. Their voices reached the Herald, and he fell into the depth of his emotions, closing his eyes.

_I will lead the Inquisition. With our friendship or without it._

“Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

Bathing in the feeling of being chosen, Maxwell raised the sword even higher. It reflected the sun rays and then dulled as the celestial light disappeared behind a heavy cloud. Thunder roared far away, and cold wind blew in the Herald’s back, but he didn’t shiver.

When Maxwell opened his eyes again, he saw red leaking down the walls of the fortress, and it was beautiful.

***

His nose didn’t hurt anymore. Looking in the mirror, Maxwell couldn’t see anything weird about his face at all, and he wished the memory of getting hit would erase as simply. He wished the hit hadn’t happened at all…

He sighed, averting his eyes from the mirror. If Maxwell had known the Commander was staying in that tower, he’d do anything to avoid going there. How unlucky he had been to enter that very place at that very time.

 _So many people in Skyhold, so many places… And I ended up meeting him_.

Outside, the rain became weaker.

Maxwell grabbed the mirror and tucked it into the bag. It was the last item to take to the room that belonged to him now that he’d become the Inquisitor. Cassandra had asked if he needed help, but Maxwell ended up refusing: if anyone saw him right now, their confidence in allowing him to lead the Inquisition would break into pieces.

The Herald didn’t know what to do. One part of him whispered words of loneliness, but the other wanted to try fixing things once more. Only he was scared he’d lose his temper again. In that case Cullen wouldn’t probably hold back and just bring him back to Solas dead.

After all that had happened, was there still a way to make things right?

With an utterly lost face, Maxwell closed the bag.

There wasn’t anything important left in this small room anymore, but he still looked it over.

 _I hope I won’t miss this place…_ He thought grimly, turning to the door. As soon as he approached it, however, someone pounded on it from the other side.

“Huh…?”

The Herald stopped, taken aback. It was pretty late already, and he didn’t expect anyone to come visit. Not to mention it was still raining outside.

The noise from behind the door rose again: someone was desperate to get in.

“Open up!” A muffled order came, and the Herald froze on his spot.

_It can’t be. You can’t be the one standing there._

That brought back memories, except that the Commander sounded furious, and Maxwell wasn’t sure he’d be able to escape a full fight this time. He fidgeted and let go of the bag.

“What do you want?” He asked loudly.

“Just open the goddamn door,” Cullen snarled from outside.

Maxwell pushed the bag away with his foot. Opening the door wasn’t in any way appealing, but he doubted he had a choice here. The Herald got the handle, pushed the latch back and stepped away just in case. When the door opened, he saw the Commander wet, shivering and angry.

“Why are you-” The Herald started.

“Take it back,” Cullen interrupted him.

“What-?”

The Commander shut the door with a loud thud and moved into the room, leaving the shocked Herald behind. He then took off his wet overcoat and dropped it on the chair, and soon a small pool of water appeared under it on the floor.

“I said, you have to take it back,” Cullen repeated, looking at the man again. “Your decision, that is.”

“What?!” Maxwell repeated, feeling his jaw drop for the second time this day. “What on Thedas are you talking about?”

“About you becoming a templar,” the Commander said, stepping closer. “It is the worst idea you could get.”

“Why?” Despite having Cullen far enough, Maxwell still moved back and only stopped when his back hit the door. “I don’t have any choice-”

“Yes, you do,” Cullen interrupted him again. He was still raging, but at least didn’t try to attack so far. “I know you’re having nightmares and all that, but becoming a templar won’t help you. It never helps anyone.”

“I don’t…” The Herald trailed off. This day had given him too many surprises already, and he was getting tired of it. Of course, Cullen had to know nothing about the details of his illness; only Solas and Cassandra had a general idea, and only Solas and Cole knew about the demon’s disappearance. The Commander probably thought it was still in Maxwell’s head and was causing all the nightmares… But even if so, didn’t he think lyrium would help clear things up? And wasn’t Cassandra acting the same?  Hadn’t she been against him becoming a templar as well?

Maxwell tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Listen… I don’t know why you are against me becoming a templar, but I want you to at least consider that I have no alternative.”

The Commander had already opened his mouth to say something back, but no answer followed. He frowned, and some of his rage gradually lifted, giving space to thinking. It seemed like there was no fight about to happen, so Maxwell took courage to move to the bed and sat down on its edge. He was overwhelmingly tired and didn’t understand a single thing anymore.

“Am I missing something?” Cullen asked quietly after a long moment, and it was both surprising and relieving to see him trying to understand again. But that didn’t mean Maxwell was ready to open up.

“Probably,” he avoided the question. “Why bother, anyway? We’re not exactly friends.”

“No, we aren’t,” the Commander agreed, and it hurt. Deep inside the Herald had hoped he would deny that. “But I still care about you. And if I can do anything to prevent you from taking lyrium, I won’t stop.”

_Lyrium again._

“Just why are you so against it? A lot of templars take lyrium, and they are fine!” Maxwell exclaimed, starting to get annoyed already.

“No, they aren’t!” Cullen objected. “Haven’t you asked about what happened in Therinfal Redoubt? Or did you just fall unconscious at the end and then leave it at that?”

“I…”

Maxwell fell silent. Back then he hadn’t thought it was important. He knew that the Lord Seeker had been devoured by Envy and then defeated, and he knew they’d managed to lead the remaining templars to the Inquisition. Beyond that, was there something he should have asked about?

If there was, why hadn’t Cassandra told him? Why hadn’t anyone?

Cullen sighed, and it seemed he got his answer from the Herald’s silence. The Commander moved closer and settled next to Maxwell on the bed; the movement was careful and quiet, and both of them sat there for some time without talking.

“You know I am a former templar, right? Everyone knows that.” Cullen was first to talk.

“Yeah, I know that,” Maxwell nodded. Now that he was thinking about it, why did the Commander stop being one?

“Lyrium is essential for a templar, it grants us our abilities,” the man continued. “But… it controls us as well. It makes us addicted. Those cut off suffer; some go mad, others die.”

“I’ve heard about it, being in a templar family and all,” the Herald shrugged. “It’s not like I will stop taking lyrium if I become a templar.”

Cullen hid his face in his hands, groaning.

“You have a demon trapped inside you. Do you really think you can fight with it using lyrium? Are the mages powerless against it?”

“About that…” Maxwell managed a quick glance at the Commander’s face and then looked back at the floor. It was getting darker outside, and if there was no lamp in the room, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. “There is no demon anymore.”

Despite facing the stony surface under their feet, Maxwell was sure Cullen was looking at him now. He could almost feel the stare on his skin.

“What?”

“You heard me,” the Herald said. “It’s gone. Corypheus took it away. I’d tell you sooner, but we were having… problems, so to say.”

“But… If it’s not a demon, what are you suffering from?” Cullen asked.

“Nightmares, mostly,” Maxwell said, and he wanted to leave it at that, but for some reason his mouth opened again and he started talking. “I also see things that aren’t there. Like blood, remember? Saw it today too. A lot of it. And there is also anger.”

The Commander was listening to him closely, and the man continued, now too far in it to stop.

“Like I can’t control myself. I get furious over spilled tea. I’m raging when my socks get lost. And you don’t even want to know about my mornings.”

There was a moment of silence, and Maxwell bit his lip, thoughtful.

“So when I bumped into you that day…” He started, not certain he should have done that. The blanket shifted under his fingers: the Commander probably tried to move away just in case. “I couldn’t really control myself. I was angry with you. I was so angry you didn’t come to see me when I needed you so much.”

Cullen cleared his throat quietly.

“So… does that mean that you…”

“I’ve lost almost everything and everyone I have ever had,” Maxwell started answering even before the question was finished. “My sister, my family, my home… I didn’t want to lose our friendship. But guess what, I kissed you. Such a wise move.”

“Yeah…” the Commander said.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” the Herald cleared his throat nervously. “Anyway… Solas said there is no cure for my illness except for lyrium, since the origin seems to be born from magic. Boosting my defence is the only choice, and if I don’t start taking lyrium soon, the nightmares may kill me for real.”

Cullen didn’t answer for a while, obviously thinking.

“Well, If there is no other way…”

Maxwell blinked and finally forced himself to look Cullen in the face again. They were staring at each other now, and there was no anger in the Commander’s eyes. And somehow that made the Herald desperate.

“I…” Maxwell gulped nervously. “If there is any chance you can forgive me… If there is still hope for us to become friends again…”

“You want me to support you?” The Commander asked with a carefully neutral expression.

“If that is possible,” the Herald mumbled. It was becoming way too hard to keep looking at Cullen, but he struggled. “I still see you as my friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

Thunder roared somewhere, rain crashing dully against the ground. The world outside was dark, and a single lamp was saving the room from disappearing as well. Soft light touched Cullen’s face, not only making it look warmer but also showing that he was exhausted.

The Commander smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, sorry for the delay. In my defence I can say that this chapter was very difficult to write.  
> I'm not lazy. Nope. Not lazy at all.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sera was never an agreeable girl,_

_Her tongue tells tales of rebellion._

_But she was so fast,_

_And quick with her bow…_

_That her enemies… hm-m…_

Maxwell took a sip of warm bitter tea and slowly put the mug back on the table, eyeing the woman that was standing a few steps away with a lute and a thoughtful expression. Her name was Maryden, and it was partially thanks to her that the taverns both back in Haven and now in Skyhold had been able to lure people in and make them regulars. Hearing her sing wasn’t a rare thing, but it was the first time the Inquisitor caught her creating new songs. Maybe if he took a habit of visiting the tavern in early mornings, he’d be able to witness this more often.

_But she was so fast,_

_And quick with her bow,_

_That no one knew where she came from…_

Maryden trailed off and frowned, and Maxwell briefly wondered why she chose to sing about one of his companions rather than the newborn Inquisitor himself. Maybe creating a song about the Inquisitor was too much..? Maybe the bard needed more practice before she would feel confident enough to start singing about him?

“Ugh…” The woman groaned quietly and sat down on a nearby chair, placing the lute on her knees. She looked frustrated.

Maxwell took the mug to his lips again.

“Quite,” he said.

Maryden raised her head and glanced at him.

“Excuse me?”

“No one quite knew where she came from,” he explained. “If you put it that way, the mood of the line will change. You try it.”

Doubt flashed in the bard’s eyes, and she bit her lip. Offering help in such an intrusive manner was probably a little too much: creative souls never liked it when someone interfered with their business. Even now the Herald could almost hear the gears in Maryden’s head move uncomfortably as she was considering his advice. It was only a minute later that she finally decided, and her fingers touched the strings once more.

_Sera was never an agreeable girl,_

_Her tongue tells tales of rebellion._

_But she was so fast,_

_And quick with her bow,_

_No one quite knew where she came from._

The bard stopped singing with a slightly puzzled face, and Maxwell chuckled.

“How did you know?” Maryden asked, her fingers still playing absently.

 “I’m the Inquisitor. I know everything,” he answeredwith a smug grin. _Not like I need to tell her about all the things I had to learn about singing…_

“…right,” the woman muttered.

Maxwell leaned back into the chair and took another sip while the bard busied herself with writing down the finished lines. Food arrived several minutes later and made him too occupied to further assist Maryden with her song, though it didn’t look like she needed help anyway. Words were flowing out of her mouth freely now and mixed into smooth sentences that praised the Herald’s elven companion.

Sinking his teeth into freshly baked bread, the Inquisitor found himself wondering yet again if something was bothering him. Yes, he’d assumed Maryden chose to sing about his companion only to sharpen her skill; to prepare the rod for a bigger fish, so to say. But he also did know that she was skilled enough as she was. And if so, then why wasn’t she singing about him? Why did she choose Sera instead? Questions were gnawing at him hungrily.

_She would always like to say,_

_"Why change the past,_

_When you can own this day?"_

Maxwell dropped his unfinished bread on the plate where it sank into the steamy porridge. Somehow, the food didn’t look so tempting anymore, not with all the thoughts that were flooding his head. Was Maryden maybe just shy? Maybe she thought she was unworthy? Or maybe…

Maybe she thought he wasn’t good enough?

_Today she will fight,_

_To keep her way._

_She's a rogue and a thief,_

_And she'll tempt your fa-_

With a piercing sound the mug hit the floor and shattered, the remains of bitter tea splashing out. The song broke, and Maryden gasped mid-sentence, startled out of her work. Her quick glance slid from Maxwell’s raised hand to the floor, and she frowned, bringing the lute down. The Herald cleared his throat nervously.

_Not again…_

“I… I er…” He stuttered, lowering his hand back to the table. Anger was evaporating already, leaving nothing but empty confusion behind, and most importantly, the Inquisitor had just lost his temper in front of both Maryden and the tavern keeper.

“Are you hurt, Inquisitor?” The man stepped away from the counter with a dry rag in his hand, and Maxwell was grateful he chose not to ask about the reason.

“No, I just… My hand slipped,” he lied and got off the chair to help pick the broken fragments. The Herald’s heart was thumping loudly in his chest, and the fact that no one was hearing it could only be described as a miracle. “I’m so sorry.”

“Do not apologize,” the keeper said. “Things like this happen, and it is only important that you are not hurt.”

“Yeah…”

The Herald finished with the pieces and threw them into a bucket that was left nearby for such purposes. Despite having food left, all he could think about was getting out of the tavern as soon as possible: the day had just started, and Maxwell had already been unable to keep his emotions at bay. It bothered him to no end, but at least he hadn’t lost it in front of a crowd… That would be completely awful.

He looked around to make sure everything was in order and then turned to leave. The tavern owner raised his head and frowned, possibly wondering why the Inquisitor chose not to finish his food, but said nothing, and with a brief ‘thank you’ Maxwell walked out in quick and wide steps.

As soon as he reached the courtyard, breathing became so much easier. The Herald inhaled and tried to calm down. It had been a week since he’d decided to become a templar, and his special physical training had already begun, but not lyrium. Maxwell knew the risks of mixing the dangerous material with his unrecognized illness, yet he wished they’d go on with it already; just physical training wasn’t enough, and his illness was progressing. It had already started to overpower Solas’s help, and that could only mean one thing: they were running out of precious time. Maybe he needed to start pushing.

But as for now, it was too early to do anything except for continuing with the training. The sun had just begun to rise, and most people were still asleep, save for those who had important matters to deal with. That was why the tavern was almost empty, with only Maryden and the keeper standing on their feet. The keeper was up only to feed Maxwell when the man was taking a break from his early training, and the bard was a woman of creativity, so it wasn’t a surprise she was doing her thing already.

 _I should probably start moving,_ Maxwell sighed. _The training won’t continue by itself._

He did a couple of exercises to warm up again and started running. Doing that was an absolute ‘must’ in the Herald’s list, especially after he’d had to stay down for almost a month.Physical activities turned out to be a very good relief, and it made Maxwell regret he hadn’t come up with this sooner.

“Hold it!”

The Inquisitor halted, surprised to hear the voice, and looked up at the top of the stairway. Then a smile appeared on his face, and he waved his hand.

“I don’t have the slightest idea why you’re up so early, but good morning!”

The Commander smiled and waved his hand in return, and Maxwell would be lying if he said Cullen wasn’t looking better these days. It was obvious the return of the comfortable relationship was doing a good job at lifting some of the pressure they both were under. Maxwell hadn’t forgotten things Cassandra had told him, and he wanted to know what the Commander was going through more than anything, but he also didn’t want to rush things. Not when they had only began rebuilding what had been lost.

“I need you up here,” Cullen said. For some reason his smile faltered and was suddenly replaced by a serious look. “There’s some news.”

“News?” Maxwell repeated quietly and hurried up the stairs without waiting. As soon as he reached the top, the Commander nodded his head at the entrance of the castle.

“Let’s go,” he said. “It’s time.”

“It’s time?” The Herald repeated again. “Time for what?”

“For lyrium,” Cullen answered, and his voice sounded somewhat colder than before… which could be expected. Lyrium, however, hadn’t been expected at all.

“Really?” The Inquisitor gasped.

“Yes.” The Commander didn’t look pleased with his reaction. “I insisted on teaching this to you myself, and yesterday it was decided we can start.”

 _Why didn’t you tell me? And why now?_ Maxwell wanted to ask, but he supposed it didn’t really matter right now. All that mattered was that today he would finally start fighting against his illness for real, and if he succeeded, there would be no more nightmares, no more anger and no more creepy visions.  He was beyond ready.

“Where are we going?” The Herald asked.

“To your chamber,” Cullen answered. “Everything has been prepared.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They entered the nearly empty main hall, crossed it and then pushed the door that led to the Inquisitor’s wing. Unlike the hall, the corridor they had to get through before actually reaching the chamber was half-destroyed and poorly lighted: the building was under construction, and some rooms needed proper fixing and furnishing. Yet seeing as rebuilding kept getting faster and better, soon it wouldn’t be a problem.

There were things, on the other hand, that couldn’t be fixed that easily, like all the chunks of flesh that were showing through the minor holes in the wall. Maxwell had gotten used to it already, and wasn’t cringing anymore whenever his eyes saw gory visions. During the past week, after having overcome disgust and uneasiness, he’d learned that none of his illusions could be touched or interacted with by any other means. The Herald couldn’t order them to disappear and he couldn’t make them pop up. None of his visions ever responded to his actions or words, and their appearance was always chaotic and absolutely unpredictable. They were, however, harmless.

Cullen pushed the door to the chamber, and Maxwell passed him and walked in, taking in the surroundings of his place. There weren’t any illusions here, only dull sunlight that was rising from behind the horizon and barely making it through the clouds. The air was fresh and cool.

“There it is,” the Commander said, closing the door behind him.

The Inquisitor took his eyes away from the balcony and followed Cullen. The man came to a stop next to Maxwell’s working table and picked up a small wooden box that was easily recognizable. At least for Maxwell, it was: he’d spent a fair part of his life among templars, after all.

“I’ll need you to sit down on something,” Cullen said, looking around. His glance stopped on the Inquisitor’s bed as there wasn’t much of a choice in the chamber yet, and Maxwell went to rearrange the sheets. He’d left in a hurry, and servants weren’t allowed to touch his belongings; it helped him feel like he had some private space all to himself.

Once everything was done, the Herald sat down and waited for Cullen to approach, but the Commander hesitated to leave his place at the table and was just standing there, holding the box quietly. A long moment was given to silence, and then he sighed.

“Are you absolutely sure there is no other way?” Cullen finally asked. “No mage can help you, no templar, nothing?”

_He’s hesitating again._

Maxwell leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together.

“We’ve talked about this,” he said in a calm voice. “According to Solas, every possible medicine and ritual has already been used. Corypheus is probably the only one who can make the illness go away, but he disappeared after Haven. And I don’t think he’ll be willing to make my life easier, to be honest.”

 “Well, maybe there’s another mage who-”

“There isn’t,” the Herald cut him off. “I trust Solas. Among the mages that we were able to grasp, only he knew about the Breach. Only he could tell what we were fighting against. I can’t see why I should not listen to him this time… And I really don’t want to make my condition a public matter.”

“Yes, I figured,” Cullen muttered. He, Solas and Cole were still the only ones who knew the entire story, more or less. “You… are completely sure there is no demon?”

“Yes. Whatever Corypheus did to me, it made Envy disappear. That’s what Cole believes in, anyway, and he’s been inside my head. I’m certain he knows what he’s saying.”

The Commander nodded reluctantly, and Maxwell expected him to come closer now, but the man didn’t move at all. He was watching the box secured tightly in his hands, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. The Herald shifted slightly on the bed.

“Listen, I know now what happened atTherinfal Redoubt,” he started slowly. The Inquisitor had had a lot of questions about the mission after making up with Cullen that day. Things he’d learned weren’t pretty, but they had nothing to do with his decision. “I’m going to take the blue one, okay? And I know about the addiction, but it’s either that, or getting worse. You know that.”

“I know…” The Commander breathed out, closing his eyes in defeat.

“We don’t know what we’re fighting against. Boosting my natural resistance to magic can be the only way to keep me safe. If not for good, then at least for some time,” Maxwell continued. “Solas is searching, and I know Cole is helping him. We’re not stuck.”

_Yes, we are._

“We’ll find a way out. But right now I have to take this chance, and I need you to support me. There’s no one else...” The Inquisitor trailed off for a moment. What he was saying here seemed a little… out of hand. But it wasn’t a bad thing, was it…? “Not even Solas. He’s my healer. You’re my friend. I need a friend right now.”

That seemed to pull Cullen out of it. The Commander opened his eyes, and though his hesitation was showing pretty clearly, there was also something else. The man spared the last look at the wooden box and took a step towards Maxwell.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Beth seemed overwhelmingly busy cleaning her feathers on a sunlit windowsill, yet sometimes she raised her small head to stare at Maxwell curiously. The man was lying sprawled on his bed, motionless, and didn’t rush to get up even though the bird probably wanted to get rid of a small piece of paper that was attached to her leg.

Lyrium was working; the Herald could feel it with all his being. It wasn’t a physical thing, but on a mental level he knew something was changing to the better. There wasn’t any pain, and there wasn’t any pleasure - just this knowledge, and it felt wonderful.

“Stay there, girl, I’ll be up soon. It’s a promise,” he promised to the bird. Beth cawed quietly and returned to her business.

The Commander had already run off to deal with his morning duties. He’d been hesitating to leave Maxwell alone at first, but it wasn’t like he had a real choice there: duties were important, after all. It took several minutes of convincing and a couple of promises to see each other later to make him more willing to get out. Maxwell didn’t want to stay alone either, of course, not with all the lyrium moving through his body. But he knew what had to be done, and besides, he didn’t plan on staying indoors for the rest of the day anyway. He was the Inquisitor now, and that meant he also had duties.

“Right,” he muttered, moving to sit up. As soon as the Inquisitor settled, he beckoned Beth with his finger. “Come here, girl. Show me what you got there.”

The bird flew off the windowsill immediately. She landed on one of Maxwell’s knees and then kept still so he wouldn’t have much trouble taking off the paper. The Herald had always liked this in her and tried to be as careful as possible in return.

“There,” the Herald got the piece off and patted the messenger. “I’m sorry for taking so long. You can go now. Have some breakfast with others.”

Beth cawed again and obeyed, soon disappearing from the view. After following her out with his eyes, Maxwell unfolded the paper, and as he had already guessed, it was from his elder brother. He’d contacted Kain several days before, leaving out a lot of things but promising he was doing okay in general. The reply wasn’t long.

_I can’t believe it. You never wanted this._

“I know,” Maxwell said to the empty air. No surprise his brother had doubts; it would be strange if he hadn’t, considering all the frustrating memories.

 _I can’t possibly imagine why you decided to become a templar, especially now,_ the letter read. _I won’t stop you, of course, but it’s just weird… Anyway, please keep me informed. We were both scared when you disappeared, and neither Oscar, nor I want to experience that ever again. Take care of yourself._

That’s where the letter ended, and the Inquisitor sighed, putting it aside. Part of him wondered if it was a good idea not to tell anything about his illness.

 _No, letting them know won’t make things better,_ he shook his head. _They’ll just start worrying, and I can’t allow it._

That was what Maxwell always told himself whenever a desire to share his worries with somebody crossed his mind. It wasn’t like his brothers could give him a helping hand right now. It wasn’t like Cassandra or Varric would do better than Solas at determining and healing his illness. Therefore, the Inquisitor didn’t need to tell them the truth. Cullen and Cole knew, sure, but they were different. Cole was a spirit, and it was next to impossible to keep secrets from him, and the Commander was his close friend…

Deep inside Maxwell doubted.

Someone knocked, and the Herald flinched. He wasn’t expecting anyone so early; Cullen had left not so long ago, and these days Maxwell insisted on visiting Solas on his own if suchnecessity occurred. Cassandra, maybe? Well, only one way to find out.

“It’s open,” he said loudly.

The door opened, and Varric entered the room cautiously, slightly confusing the Herald. He’d never been in here before.

“Hi,” Maxwell greeted him. “How are you doing?”

Varric looked around briefly and then turned to face the man. “Can’t complain,” he said, smiling, and then pointed at nothing in particular with a nod of his head. “Nice place you got here. Mind if I walk around a bit?”

“Go ahead,” the Inquisitor shrugged. It only got to him a few seconds later that the dwarf was probably memorizing things for his future book. What other reason could he have? Thinking about that made Maxwell feel better: if Maryden didn’t want to tell people about him, surely Varric would be glad to do it.

For the time, all worries were swept away. The Herald kept silent, watching the dwarf wander about in his chamber and then leave to the balcony. For half a minute all was quiet, and then Maxwell’s ears caught a loud noise.

“Someone dropped a bag with potatoes!” Varric shouted from outside. “And it wasn’t me!”

The Inquisitor sat back down on his bed and relaxed.

“Do you like it there?” He asked after a short while, rocking back and forth slightly.

“Absolutely,” Varric answered. He returned to the chamber and looked a bit pale for some reason, but was wearing a small smile nonetheless. “Do you?”  
  
“Of course!” Maxwell beamed.

“And what about that? Does it help?”

“Does what help?” the Inquisitor followed the dwarf’s stare and met the wooden box. “Oh, that. Yeah, the Commander came by this morning and taught me how to use it. I’m sure I’m getting better. It feels that way, at least...”

Varric frowned, and for a moment Maxwell clung to that detail, mirroring the expression without noticing. Was something wrong?

“If you say so,” Varric said. The frown disappeared, but the uneasiness in his eyes didn’t. “Actually, I didn’t come here only to see where you live now,” he said. “I want you to meet someone.”

Maxwell felt his eyebrows rise.

“Who?”

“A friend of mine. He’s outside, waiting for you.”

“Oh? Oh… I guess, I should go see him then,” The Inquisitor moved to the edge of the bed and grabbed his boots. As soon as Maxwell was done, he stepped towards the door, curious to find out who was standing behind it.

The dwarf cleared his throat.

“Not that outside,” he said, grinning. “ _This_ outside.”

He pointed at the balcony. The Herald frowned, lowering his head in confusion, and then it suddenly dawned upon him that there were actually two ways out of his chamber. Climbing all the way up, though? That would be insane… Nevertheless, Maxwell turned around and went out, and as soon as he was standing on the balcony, he saw…

“I know you!” He gasped. “You’re the guy that bumped into me!”

With a yelp, the black haired man jumped away from the railing.

“Gaah! Careful, what if I fell down!” He exclaimed nervously, instantly making Maxwell uneasy as well.

“I’m so sorry! I was… wait…” The Herald trailed off. Hadn’t that man just climbed up the wall? How came he was scared now, standing on solid floor?

Behind them, Varric started chuckling.

“Inquisitor, meet Garrett Hawke,” he said. “The Champion of Kirkwall.”

“What-?” Maxwell breathed out. “ _You_ are? But you… you…”

 _You don’t look like the Champion at all,_ no way he’d say that aloud! But really, no, _really_ , all the heroic handsomeness aside, that man _had_ bumped into him and into the elf girl back then, and he certainly hadn’t looked all that dangerous. Or powerful, to that matter…

“I wouldn’t believe in that either,” Hawke smiled, pulling Maxwell out of his thoughts and making him stare wide-eyed. “As for our first meeting, I… I’m not very… attentive, at times?”

“All the time,” the dwarf corrected his friend lightheartedly, and a memory clicked in the Herald’s mind.

_He usually ends up in trouble everywhere he goes. Can’t even make himself a cup of tea without creating a mess... The most unlucky person I have ever met. But no matter what happens, he always manages to stay alive somehow._

How on Thedas had he managed to climb all the way up to the Herald’s balcony? If Varric had told the truth, then there was no way Hawke could do such a thing without messing it up somehow. Maxwell scratched the back of his head, trying to solve that puzzle. Then he thought back, replaying Varric’s request to look around in his chamber…

_Wait. The balcony… He exited to the balcony. And then there was that noise._

Everything cleared up.

“You didn’t climb here on your own, did you…” The Inquisitor sighed.

“Damn it,” the dwarf snorted. “Thought you wouldn’t notice…”

“I didn’t really touch the wall, I was on the roof,” Hawke continued smiling, though there was a bit of embarrassment to it now. “But… yes, Varric did help me to get down.”

_I can’t believe these two. How can a dwarf help in such situation? Moral support?_

“Why did you do it? Why not just enter through the door?” Maxwell asked, confused, and pointed back at the room with his hand. “You wanted to impress me or what?”

“Well, that too,” Hawke admitted. “But mostly because I’m hiding. Or, to put it correctly, Varric is trying to hide me.”

“To hide you? From what exactly?” The Herald felt like he’d entered a dark forest and was now getting more and more lost with each step. What could possibly represent danger for the Champion of Kirkwall here, in Skyhold?

Varric chose to answer first.

“The Seeker,” he said. “You see… the story of our past isn’t really happy.”

“How so?” Maxwell asked.

“As far as I know, she wanted me to lead the Inquisition,” Hawke answered, frowning. “Not the best choice, if you ask me.”

 _Yeah, for sure,_ the Inquisitor agreed silently. He felt slightly offended for some reason, but decided to put it aside for now.

“Hawke was already through a lot by the time, and becoming the Inquisitor would only make things worse,” the dwarf continued, sounding a bit frustrated. No, quite a lot, actually. “Cassandra only saw the results of his work, and, well… that turned out to be enough for her. So I hid him. Told her he disappeared.”

“And you’re avoiding her now,” Maxwell guessed and then looked directly at the Champion. “Does that mean things can still become worse for you?”

“If I-” Hawke started.

“Of cour-” Varric cut him off unintentionally and then abruptly fell silent. Both stood there quietly for a moment, looking at each other, and then the Champion nodded, letting the dwarf continue. “Yes. Some things may be covered, but believe me when I say he’s had enough. If Cassandra, or any advisor for that matter, finds out Hawke is here, they’ll try to get him to do things. Dangerous things.”

“Okay, I understand. You’re trying to keep him safe,” Maxwell nodded. And he did understand, in a way, even though he’d never had to protect someone like that. “Hawke seems healthy enough to me, but I won’t push. And I won’t tell anyone.”

Varric let out an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Though I’m curious why you’ve decided to come here at all,” the Inquisitor continued. “Why didn’t you stay hidden?”

“Ah. Well…” Hawke folded his arms across his chest, and Maxwell instantly recognized the defensive gesture. “This whole Corypheus thing… might be my fault.”

There was a long moment of silence. The Herald glanced from the Champion to the dwarf and back.

“What?” he asked, his eyes reflecting utter disbelief. “How so?”

Hawke bit his lower lip. “The Grey Wardens had him imprisoned with my father’s blood,” he said, his voice bitter. “But he, somehow, managed to take them under some kind of a mind control and sent them after me.”

Maxwell nodded; the rest of this story was predictable. The Wardens must have found Hawke and gotten the blood to release the Elder God. How they had managed to do it remained a mystery… or maybe not. With all the luck that had its back turned to the Champion, the Inquisitor wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d just slipped and fallen down, and then the Wardens had picked his blood and simply gone on with the Elder God’s plan. And that’s how it had probably happened because Hawke didn’t rush to throw light on that episode.

“I’m sure I killed him, he was lying dead on the floor right in front of me… In front of Varric, too!”

“Yeah, that I can confirm,” the dwarf agreed. “He was obviously dead.”

“Well, he’s alive now,” the Inquisitor said, shaking his head. “How could he return? And how did he get this power over the Wardens?”

“Now this is why I came here,” the Champion unfolded his arms and placed them on his hips instead. “Corypheus either has some tie to the blight or uses Tevinter magic – I’m not really sure, which. But whatever it is he uses, I suspect he tried to take the Wardens under control again. That is why they all disappeared.”

 _Of course,_ Maxwell remembered. Cassandra had mentioned something like this. It had happened before Blackwall’s arrival, and the Warden had been all damaged at the time. And he’d stayed ever since…

_Why is he still around? Does Corypheus only use his tricks on Wardens that he knows?_

“I don’t want to interfere with the Inquisition,” the Champion said, and Maxwell snapped out of it. “But Corypheus is my responsibility, and I can’t stay aside and watch you struggling to correct my mistakes. I have a lead, and we can start following it as soon as I gather enough information.”

“Yeah, we’ll do it quietly,” Varric added. “And when we’re done with this, Hawke will be out of here. Speaking of which, the sun is getting high. If we’re planning to get you out of here unnoticed any time soon, it’s better to do now.”

The Herald nodded reluctantly as there still were questions he wanted to ask. About how Hawke had managed to kill Corypheus, or how he’d entered Skyhold without being seen. Why he’d entered the fortress at all and why hadn’t he come earlier, seeing as they’d actually met before. Maybe Hawke hadn’t known he was the Inquisitor? And most importantly, did he really think it possible to act behind Leliana’s back? She had agents all over the place, and it was a miracle the Champion hadn’t yet been discovered… There were a lot of uncovered holes in here.

But Hawke really had to go now, otherwise he’d definitely meet someone up here in his chamber; people had a habit of visiting their Herald from time to time.

“We need to discuss a lot of things,” the Herald said, watching Hawke move to the railings. His eyebrows went up. “…are you sure this is a good idea? There are people down there now. Even if you pull the hood up, they’ll definitely notice you, and they know who this balcony belongs to.”

“Yeah, maybe it’ll be easier to guide you out through the castle,” Varric added. “It’s not that crowded at this time, and I think I know a way.”

Hawke turned back to look at his friend. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” the dwarf nodded. “We just need to be quick and careful. Follow me.”

The three of them left the balcony and entered the Herald’s room. Hawke looked uncertain; he was probably wondering if he needed to push the hood back down to seem less dangerous in case he and Varric bumped into someone. A stranger always looked less suspicious than a man who tried to hide his face. Here, in the heart of the Skyhold fortress, home of the Inquisition, it would be wiser not to stand out. Hawke seemed to get this idea as he took the hood off and tried to flatten his stubborn hair.

“He’s ridiculously good looking, I know,” Varric chuckled, and Maxwell instantly looked away from the man and cleared his throat, realizing he’d been staring.

“I wasn’t really looking at anything…” He muttered.

Hawke joined the chuckling as they reached the door, and the dwarf pulled it open.

He froze on his spot.

Maxwell was starting to question the Champion’s luck even more. Maybe the man had just forgotten to grab its tail on his way to this world? Because that’s what had to be happening now, pure lack of luck. Nothing else would explain Cassandra standing on the other side of the door with her hand raised and ready to grab the handle.

She looked so shocked Maxwell thought she’d faint.

***

“I can’t believe this happened…” Cullen put the chess pieces away. Maxwell was sitting at the other side of the table with his exhausted eyes glued to the board and his back pressed to the chair. He had found the Commander playing chess with Dorian and ended it swiftly by just appearing.

He’d used to think that Cassandra was the scariest thing alive when she was mad, but it had been the first time he’d seen her _furious_. The Seeker had lost control over herself right there, and no one, not even Hawke, could stop her from raging. So it hadn’t been a big surprise when the Herald appeared in front of the chess table as pale as if he’d seen a horde of ghosts. Cullen had jumped up from his chair, lost the game, too, but neither he, nor Dorian seemed to care as they both had been too busy finding out the reasons.

Then Dorian had left in a hurry. Maxwell had been too out of it to ask why, so he’d just landed on an empty chair and let the Commander take care of him.

Time had passed, and finally the Seeker’s shouts started to settle down, becoming less and less harmful to the Inquisitor’s skull. But he could still hear her words clearly, as if she was present.

_You knew where Hawke was all along!_

_You conniving little shit!_

_And you, you’re taking his side?!_

_I trusted you, and you’re no different!_

He wanted to forget.

“It’s going to be okay,” Cullen was saying somewhere. “Cassandra is a strong, wise woman. She’ll get over it, no matter what.”

Maxwell nodded absent-mindedly. Somehow, it was becoming difficult to think as not only Cassandra’s shouts were getting quieter with each passing second. His mind was trying to shut down as well.

“Cullen…” He called weakly. “I think I need to lie down…”

“Inquisitor-?” The Commander jerked up from his chair and rushed closer. He pressed one hand to the Herald’s shoulder and the other one to the man’s cheek. “Inquisitor! No, wait!”

Maxwell’s body was becoming heavy, and he leaned forward, ready to lose his hold over it. Cullen’s hand tried to prevent him from doing so, and then he felt something warm and solid- the Commander must have pressed him to his chest so the Inquisitor wouldn’t fall down. Maxwell raised his trembling hand and stroked Cullen’s arm in gratitude.

“Thank you…” He whispered.

“Inquisitor, wait-”

 _“No, this is no good, you can’t do this,”_ Cole’s voice came from somewhere far. _“You can’t sleep now, it is too dangerous, the thread is thin, it will snap-”_

“m… sorry…”

“Maxwell-!”

Everything went black. There was no reality anymore, and Maxwell was floating in darkness and silence, alone. No voices could reach him here, and he was absolutely free, the sole godlike power of his own realm...  Except there was nothing to reign over.

He opened his eyes to see nothing. The Herald couldn’t even see himself because there was no light in this world.

 _What happened? How did I get here?_ Thoughts surfaced one after another, and Maxwell thought he had to be scared, or at least concerned, but he just couldn’t bring himself to feel anything.

Was that death? Had he finally died, unable to resist his illness?

_What illness?_

There was a spark of blue in the darkness, far, far away. Maxwell had almost missed it, but miraculously, he didn’t. There wasn’t much he could do about it, however, as his body wasn’t listening, and he couldn’t even move his fingers.

 _“-ne more,”_ A familiar voice echoed softly in the distance, and for some reason the Herald wanted to reach it.

There was another blue spark, and it was closer this time. The Herald tried to take his body under control once again, and he thought he’d managed to do so, but the light died too soon, and in the end his efforts were pointless. Maybe he just had to let it go…

 _“One more!”_ The voice repeated, louder this time. _“Grab it! You should grab it!”_

“Cole…?” Maxwell realized, and his body began gaining weight. The lock on his emotions wavered as well, giving way to fear.

_Where am I… What’s going on…_

_“Grab it!”_ Cole shouted, so close, and then a blinding blue spark appeared right above Maxwell’s floating form, and it hurt his eyes so much he thought they would simply explode. But the Herald still reached out and touched the spark because that’s what Cole had told him to do. He trusted the spirit and needed salvation…

Pain rushed through the Inquisitor’s body like a thousand of sharp needles, cut through his flesh and bones and then started to worm its way into his brain. Maxwell’s entire being twisted, and he tried to scream, but no sounds left his mouth because he was burning and numb. Something was going so horribly wrong, and pain was so unbearable, so slow and agonizing; the Herald wanted it to disappear, was ready to do anything to make it go away.

 _“It’s okay, you have to be strong,”_ Cole was trying to soothe him. _“You’re hurting, but don’t push it away, it will calm down…”_

Maxwell wasn’t listening, he simply couldn’t. He was no spirit and no mage, just a simple warrior, and he had never felt so much pain before. He wanted it gone, and so he started to force his mind, and it listened to him and obeyed, rearranging his emotions and nerves and reconnecting them all over again. It was all messy and wrong, and the order was destroyed, but it was the only way. The pain started to subside.

***

Maxwell opened his eyes.

“Maker’s breath! You’re alive!”

“Oh, thank the Maker…”

The Herald couldn’t determine where the words had just come from, but he was quite certain they belonged to the Commander and the Seeker. They were somewhere close, so that had to mean he’d survived the darkness. The room was unclear and seemed to be vaguely familiar.

“Don’t force yourself,” Solas warned him. The elf was also present, and sounded as calm as ever. “You have nearly died. We had to use lyrium to help you fight the illness.”

Maxwell didn’t bother to answer. Someone squeezed his hand, and the man turned his head slowly to see Cassandra sitting beside his bed. Her eyes were wet, and she was breathing heavily. It was her trembling fingers that held his hand.

Cullen stood behind the Seeker with his face covered by his hands, and there was also Cole who paced impatiently and was obviously invisible for everyone else. Except for Solas, maybe, but the elf seemed to be busy with the contents of the wooden box. His face was focused.

“Inquisitor, I… I…” Cassandra tried to say, but she couldn’t make herself finish anything. It didn’t matter, though, because Maxwell knew exactly what she was trying to say. If he had died this day, she would have never forgiven herself for what she had done.

Somehow… he didn’t care. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Firstly, I would like to apologize for such a delay. This chapter should have been ready a long time ago, but life happened, and I simply had no opportunity to write faster. Do not worry about future updates, though: this story is very important to me, and I will finish it no matter what.
> 
> Secondly, this story is unpredictable. Most of the time I’m just sitting here and writing down whatever The Plot tells me, so some of you may get an idea that it’s not really about the Inquisitor’s and the Commander’s relationship. It is. Just you wait (wink wink).
> 
> And lastly, thank you for still staying here <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! XD

The sun was high in the sky, and its bright rays were piercing through the windows of the Inquisitor’s bedroom without mercy. Maxwell had tried to hide under the blankets at first, but that only made the heat of his bed unbearable, and in the end the Herald lost the struggle and had to surface, sweating buckets. He threw the blanket to the side and stretched, his hands going up and legs pointing at the balcony entrance. A yawn that came mid-action was impossible to suppress.

As the Inquisitor opened his eyes, he saw red on the windowsills. Vivid in the sunlight, living pieces of flesh were covering solid stone and stretching lazily to the edges of the sill where they fell down onto the floor with soft sounds. There were already quite a few piles. Maxwell groaned and waved his hand before his eyes.

“Go die or something,” he muttered, slightly annoyed. “You are ruining my morning.”

When the Herald dropped his hand, the illusion was gone.

“Much better,” he nodded and moved to stand up. Judging by the position of the sun and all the noise that was coming from the courtyard below, everyone was already up. Which meant Maxwell was horribly late with his physical training… but who cared, really. He was the Inquisitor, so he could go running whenever he so desired. People would only like seeing him keeping in shape, especially the advisors and some of his companions. In other words, everyone who’d witnessed his breakdown two weeks ago.

Maxwell went through the morning routine, thinking about the upcoming duties. Now that he was regularly taking lyrium, things were going much smoother: nightmares started to feel a little less threatening and couldn’t separate him from Solas anymore, all visions became controllable (though not yet touchable), and his anger seemed easier to control. Therefore, the Herald could go out and play his role as the leader of the Inquisition without having to worry about his reputation. Though for some reason he was hardly feeling worried these days…

Maxwell put the brush back on the table and picked up the wooden box. Taking lyrium was something he’d gotten used to doing every day: it never took much time yet felt like polishing a shield that would guard him for the rest of the day. As soon as everything was ready, the Inquisitor went towards the door.

Another busy day was waiting for him outside. As usual, the corridor was mostly empty, except for a couple of workers who were deciding on the repairs. Both of them greeted the Herald, and he waved his hand once in return. Then, in the main hall, one of Josephine’s helpers handed Maxwell a pile of papers, and the Herald accepted them with a small sigh: he already knew what he was going to find there. These were mostly random reports and orders that needed his signature, and also requests from all over Ferelden.

Many were impressed by the achievements of the Inquisition, and that, sadly, didn’t only mean the stable growth of helpful newcomers or recruits. It meant crowds of people saw it as means to solve their problems. Whenever a group of rebellion mages popped up to burn someone’s village, the Inquisition would receive at least a dozen letters. Whenever a bunch of templars attacked someone’s shop, the Inquisition would get numerous claims, starting with the owner of the shop and ending with their customers. Maxwell had even received a duel request once: a man had wanted to fight him because of his wife’s betrayal; a betrayal that, according to him, happened because his dear Fiore wanted to marry a man who closed the Breach. And there were, _Maker_ , invitations. Again.

 _Thanks, Josephine, for not refusing on my behalf,_ the Herald thought grimly. He had no time for this useless information.

“Boring, boring, boring…” He muttered, looking through the papers. Most of them weren’t related to Corypheus. Only to poor people with their endless problems. People who’d never raised a finger to help the Inquisition when it had been in need.

Somewhere mid-hall the Inquisitor stopped, distracted by a familiar voice. He looked up from yet another claim and frowned a second later: a dozen steps away was no other than Hawke himself helping an elf girl attach one of the Inquisition flags to the wall. The servant seemed to be tall enough to do the task herself, and that made the Herald raise his eyebrows at them. Hawke was balancing on a small chair that looked too shabby to hold the weight of a grown man, and the elf girl held the cloth in her hands, ready to give it to him. Maxwell folded the papers.

“Good morning,” he greeted both the Champion and the servant. The elf girl straightened up immediately and then bowed to him, pulling the lower side of the flag down. Hawke, on the other hand, didn’t look back, too absorbed by the task, and ended up being pulled as well. With a series of loud thuds the man tumbled down from the chair, broke it in the process, and ended up struggling hopelessly under the big cloth. The Inquisitor pressed his hand to his face and groaned. This bad luck was just impossible.

After getting the Champion out from under the flag and settling down on the Inquisitor’s throne, Maxwell went on with his work. There were a lot of invitations this time, and after about ten of them the Inquisitor simply began ignoring. Most of them were identical, anyway, and contained little information.

The routine continued until a different piece of paper appeared in between the letters, and Maxwell took it out from the pile without much interest. As soon as he saw the handwriting, however, his interest recovered with an incredible speed.

_Good morning._

_I need to talk to you, but there is a lot of work today, and I cannot leave without finishing it first. Please come find me when you have time._

That was the first time the Commander ever sent him letters. Usually, when an advisor needed the Inquisitor’s presence, they sent servants to ask him directly. Maybe there weren’t any of them nearby this time…

Maxwell looked down at the remaining letters and quickly decided that if he had time, it was now. He stood up from the throne, put the papers down on it and hurried towards the second door to his left. The Herald had already memorized the castle, so it wouldn’t take much time to find the Commander’s working place. He passed Solas’s room (said a brief ‘hello’ and ‘everything is okay’), went up the stairs and exited to the battlements, and then there was the door he was looking for. The Inquisitor cut the remaining distance quickly and pulled the door open.

He should have probably knocked first, because in the next moment his face nearly met an incoming lyrium box. Maxwell barely managed to dodge it, and the box hit the wall instead and fell down, all its contents scattering across the floor. Standing at the table with his hand raised, Cullen gasped in horror.

“Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter, I-”

“Wow,” Maxwell managed to utter, his eyes glued to the box. “That was a fine assassination attempt, you know. Never knew, never expected…” He looked up at Cullen, slightly confused. The Commander breathed in sharply.

“I didn’t try to-” He stuttered, trying to calm down, and then stepped towards the Herald only to come to a sudden stop a second later. The man’s hand jumped to his stomach, and he groaned, leaning on the table and obviously in pain. Maxwell frowned, approaching the Commander quickly. What was that all about?

“Why are you even up if you’re feeling unwell?” He asked, stepping over the box and not paying much attention to it.

“I’m fine, I just... never meant for this to interfere…” Cullen muttered, lowering himself to sit on the chair.

“This…?” Maxwell repeated. He didn’t grasp it at first, but everything became clear as the Commander pointed towards the scattered instruments with a nod. “You mean lyrium? Is something wrong with- _oh_.”

It had been a wild guess, and this episode here already started to make perfect sense. Back then in the Herald’s room, when he and the Commander had been busy talking about Maxwell’s future, Cullen mentioned he’d stopped being a templar– no, it had been known before that. What the Inquisitor hadn’t known, however, was that the man also said ‘no’ to lyrium. Which would mean he was now ‘cut off’ and going through a bone shattering nightmare.

If so, then how long had that been going on? If the Inquisitor thought back to Haven, he vaguely remembered seeing Cullen tired at times. So, it hadn’t been only tiredness? Maxwell’s conversations with Cassandra would surely strengthen that assumption…

“So, my guess is, you quit taking lyrium before or when the Inquisition happened,” the Herald began slowly, hoping to Maker he was wrong.  Cullen grunted in agreement, and it made Maxwell sigh heavily in return. He couldn’t believe it. “It can’t be true. Quitting lyrium while leading the Inquisition? You can’t be that reckless.”

“Reckless…” The Commander repeated without much emotion, his half-lidded eyes watching the floor, and his lips slightly open. “Maybe I am. I thought I had it under control... I asked Cassandra to watch over me and… everything was okay at first.”

“But not now,” the Inquisitor finished it for him.

“No,” Cullen raised his hands to his face.

At that moment there were two options, and only one seemed appropriate. Maxwell had already seen what the Commander was capable of and what he cherished most – the Inquisition, namely. So it would be only natural if he took lyrium again. The Herald was breaking his head over why Cullen had decided against it, or at least it looked like that if the flying box was anything to go by.

“Well, ta-”

“I can’t!” The Commander jumped up from the chair and shuddered, pain reflecting in both his expression and action. Maxwell dashed towards the man to support him; he’d had no idea everything was this bad. Why hadn’t Cullen told him before?

 _No, it’s not the time to be asking that,_ he thought. The Inquisitor wanted the Commander to sit down again, but Cullen refused, pressing his hands to the table stubbornly.

“I’m not that weak,” he grunted.

_Yes, you are._

“I know,” Maxwell nodded. This needed to stop. “Listen, I-”

“Remember that time back in Haven,” the man interrupted him suddenly, glancing up, and the Herald took a step back, puzzled. He had no idea why Cullen would want to talk about that right now, it seemed completely irrelevant.

“When exactly?” He still asked.

“At the tournament,” the Commander specified, straightening up with some effort. “We talked about the Hero of Ferelden, and you… ran away when I mentioned the Circle of Ferelden.”

“Ah. That time.” Maxwell gave a small sigh.

_Great, because it’s the best time to have this conversation._

“I was there when it happened. The Circle…” The Commander’s voice hitched, and his breath became heavier, “…was taken over by abominations. The templars – _my friends_ – were slaughtered.”

He pushed away from the table, and for a second the Inquisitor thought he’d stagger from doing such a quick movement: he was feeling unwell after all. But the Commander stayed upright, turned to the window and approached it quietly. He leaned to the wall next to it and looked out at the courtyard.

“I was tortured…” He forced out. “They tried to break my mind, and I- how can you be the same person after that?”

Maxwell listened. It seemed that today Cullen was determined to show him the deepest, most painful corners of his memory. The man wasn’t even calm anymore, and words that were getting out of his throat were spiteful and desperate, yet it didn’t look like he was angry at the Circle, or templars, or anything for that matter. The Herald knew this emotional condition well enough: he’d gone through that himself when his sister had died at the very same Circle and at the very same events. At the very same time… Despite that, he didn’t rush to interrupt the Commander. There was no need to make things worse.

“Still, I wanted to serve,” Cullen went on. “So they sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what, hm?” The Commander wasn’t addressing Maxwell anymore, and it was becoming rather disturbing. “Her fear of mages ended in madness…”

 _Maybe I should stop him after all…?_ Maxwell wondered. Yes, he’d been waiting to find out what was happening for a long time, and here was his best chance: he didn’t have to ask anything, Cullen was opening up on his own pretty well... But it was damaging him.

“Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets,” the Commander finished and turned to the Herald slowly. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

He wasn’t saying anything else, and after a short while of silent staring it dawned upon Maxwell that Cullen was probably waiting for some kind of support. Judging by his small breakdown, the Commander wasn’t at all sure he was doing the right thing. He wanted to cut all ties that connected him to the Chantry, but that endangered his rank in the Inquisition, and if his condition became worse, a new Commander would be necessary. There was no one Maxwell would entrust this position to. Maybe Cassandra, but she had enough on her plate already.

Maker, even if the Inquisition _did_ find itself a new Commander at some point, Cullen would still continue suffering until he was either victorious and crippled, or safe and with his pride hurt. At this point, for Maxwell, as the man’s friend, the choice was obvious. It may have seemed like Cullen had his withdrawal under control at first, but now was the time to stop wasting his energy on pointless struggling.

The Inquisitor would go ahead and voice it if the Commander wasn’t standing in front of him in such a messy state. Maxwell needed to be careful if he wanted Cullen to stand firmly again, especially after hearing what he was about to say. Ordering around wouldn’t do.

“Listen,” the Inquisitor started, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “Before you decide anything, I want you to know that you weren’t the only one who lost someone precious at the Circle.”

Cullen looked up sharply.

“I know!” He exclaimed, sounding both surprised and irritated. “A lot of people died there, so it’s not really-”

“I lost someone too,” the Herald cut him off calmly.

“What-?!”

There was a long pause, and the Commander stared at Maxwell with wide eyes. Anger evaporated away from him like it weighed nothing.

“Yes,” Maxwell leaned to the table. “I had a sister. Edolie… She died during the abomination attack. By a templar’s hand, I’ve heard.”

Cullen took half a step back. “I… I never…” He pressed his hands to his face and groaned. “Maker, I thought it couldn’t get worse… And to think you chose them over the mages…”

“I wanted to be honest with you,” the Herald said. “The man who killed her… It may have been one of your friends. It may have been you.”

The Commander flinched.

“But I’m not blaming anyone. Not anymore. In the past, I _did_ cut off from the templars, paid a huge price, too… But look at where I am now. Did I manage to escape? No.”

“I… I understand, but…”

“Do you really believe you can run away from your past by simply paying your price?” Maxwell asked, watching the Commander with a serious face. “I’ve seen you when I returned from Therinfal Redoubt with all those templars. You were happy. And now you have me, your templar friend... So please tell me, what exactly you are trying to run away from, because I fail to understand.”

Cullen was silent, and he wasn’t looking at the Inquisitor anymore. His fingers were clenched into fists, and his breath was slow and heavy. Maxwell decided to give him some time to recover and went to gather the scattered instruments instead: thankfully, they weren’t terribly damaged. The Commander never joined him in this task.

A minute later the Herald was done, and he stood up to place the box on the table. It was then when a sudden thud interrupted him, and he jumped on the spot, almost letting go of what he was holding. He turned around to see what had the Commander was doing only to find him pressing his hand to the bookshelf. He must have hit it in anger because a few books were now lying on the floor. Maxwell sighed.

“I should be taking it, shouldn’t I…” Cullen muttered, lost and defeated. “I’ve done so much to keep it away from me…”

_It is time._

Maxwell put the box on the table and took a small lyrium bottle out of it. He then approached the Commander and stopped a mere step away, holding the bottle up but not actually giving it to the man.

“I’m not going to decide it for you,” he said with a carefully neutral expression. “But before you make your decision, let me tell you something.”

Cullen nodded reluctantly, glancing from the bottle to the Herald’s face.

“I admire your decision,” Maxwell went on. “And I understand what you are after. If I were you, I would most definitely do the same. But... this will get you nowhere, because the time you’ve chosen? It’s beyond bad. You’re our Commander, and you have a lot of responsibility on your back. You will probably break if you don’t take lyrium.”

“I-” Cullen started, but Maxwell shook his head.

“Wait, let me finish,” he asked. The Commander bit his lip and looked down at the floor. “No. Look at me. I want you to see me when I’ll say this, because I’m about to make a promise.”

The man looked up at him again, sharply, and a small inhale followed, indicating his intention to say something. Cullen, however, bit his tongue before he could proceed. The Herald appreciated that.

“I didn’t want to become a templar,” he said. “Now you know why. Or part of it, at least. But anyway, after what I’ve just witnessed here, I’m beginning to think about quitting lyrium as well when I recover from the illness. So…”

Maxwell’s heart was beating steadily as he watched the Commander.

“I won’t blame you if you choose to keep on like this. As your friend, I will only support you.” He made a small pause and then continued confidently. “But if you decide to take lyrium again, I can promise you that after all this ends, we will break the addiction. Together.”

The Inquisitor’s hand was still raised, and the bottle lay on it, ready to be taken.

“You won’t have to do it alone anymore. I won’t have to do it alone either,” Maxwell finished.

Cullen stood there for a long time, unmoving. His eyes were glued to the bottle, and he hesitated, but at least he was considering. The Herald waited patiently for him to decide, and after a while the Commander finally moved. He let out a small sigh and took the bottle, all reluctance of the world in his trembling fingers. He opened the bottle and raised it.

“I’m going to undo everything I’ve been through…” He whispered.

Maxwell nodded.

“Yes, you are,” he said.

The Commander didn’t hesitate any longer. He brought the bottle up to his lips and drank, and the Herald watched him silently. Changes were fast to appear: as soon as Cullen finished drinking, his posture became steadier and his expression changed to more relaxed. The man was frustrated, but there was no more pain written all over his face.

“I feel better, but I don’t,” was the first thing he said.

“I know. But it’s not going to last forever,” Maxwell assured him. “Just bear with it for a while, okay?”

“Yes.”

Cullen returned to his table and sat down again. All documents were moved swiftly to the side as he reached for the lyrium box and brought it closer, probably thinking to rearrange things in it. Maxwell approached the table from the other side, unsure if he had to leave him alone or not.

“Do you need me for anything else?” He decided to ask.

The Commander’s hands halted, and he looked up slowly, hesitant.

“I really don’t know what to say to you,” he admitted after a while, his voice quiet. “I’m not sure what to think... Everything that happened in the Circle of Ferelden, it’s… different now.”

“Is it?”

Cullen looked away thoughtfully and placed his elbows on the table, locking his fingers together.

“I cared for my friends,” the Commander said softly. “When the abominations appeared, I tried to protect them. Men, women… I attacked every mage.”

His fingers tensed, making the lock tighter.

“And now I’m wondering if it was me who killed someone you cherished.”

 _We’ll never know,_ Maxwell thought. It was strange, but he didn’t feel sad or angry. He didn’t feel anything when he thought about his sister’s death.

“Don’t,” he said aloud. “You were trying to save your friends. And besides, I didn’t like my sister anyway.”

Cullen looked up reluctantly.

“Are you trying to comfort me?” He asked.

“It’s not working, is it,” the Herald guessed. “But I don’t want you breaking your head over the past. What happened – happened. The important thing is the present.”

“I know, but-”

“We have the Inquisition on our shoulders,” Maxwell cut him off. He leaned forward and squeezed the Commander’s shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s focus on it. We can always talk about the past later.”

Cullen bowed his head slightly to look at the hand on his shoulder, and his eyelids lowered. It made the Inquisitor wonder if he’d made a mistake by touching, yet he didn’t intend on pulling away. He didn’t want the man to keep hurting himself.

As Maxwell was gathering his wits to utter something, however, the Commander unlocked his fingers from the tight grip and covered the Herald’s hand with his own. It was an utterly unexpected thing, and Maxwell forgot everything he’d come up with so far.

“I uh…” He muttered, confused.

“Okay,” Cullen said, looking up and into the Inquisitor’s face again. His eyes were sad. “If you say so.” He gave Maxwell’s hand a firm squeeze and let go. “I suggest getting ready for the next mission, then. Your costume should be ready.”

“What? What costume?” The Herald removed his hand as well and was now staring at the Commander, surprised.

“For the ball?” Cullen frowned. “One of our agents should have delivered you the invitation. Have you seen it?”

“The invitation…? Ooh…” _Well, of course_ , Maxwell still had to finish looking through the papers. He’d been in a hurry to talk to the Commander, so he’d just left them in the throne room. “Right… the invitation… Heh…”

Cullen let out a small sigh.

“Have you been neglecting your duties, Inquisitor?” The man was trying to sound serious, but his frustration was showing. Maxwell bit his lip.

“I just went to see you as soon as I found out you were waiting,” he said, lowering his head. “You’re my friend, so…”

It was an honest answer. The Commander must have noticed, because the uneasiness on his face became a little softer as soon as he heard that.

“Is that so?” He asked.

Maxwell nodded, suddenly feeling somewhat embarrassed. He hadn’t done anything special, yet somehow it felt like he had… Or Cullen made it seem so. At any rate, special or no, the uneasiness disappeared from the Commander’s face, and he even managed a little smile.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he said.

“Yeah, I… I have to go,” Maxwell bowed slightly. It was difficult to look at the man. The Herald turned away, feeling awkward, and all but dashed towards the exit.

“Wait,” Cullen asked quietly.

He halted.

“Before you go, I want to tell you something,” the Commander continued, making Maxwell look back reluctantly. “Everything I did at the Circle… I wanted to protect my friends. And that time, I failed. But…”

The Herald swallowed. The man that was sitting there, at the Commander’s table, was different from before. It felt like all Cullen’s doubts and all his pain were swept away by determination as he stood up, tall and strong.

“But I will not fail this time,” he said confidently. “I will do everything I can to protect you.”

The words held so much power they crashed into Maxwell like a direct lightning strike. He felt the hairs on his body rise as goosebumps covered his skin with an impossible speed.  No one had ever told him anything like this...

The Herald opened his mouth in an attempt to say something, a ‘thank you’, or maybe ‘I know,’ but he just couldn’t do it. His tongue refused to move. Maxwell only managed a nod and then started walking backwards, not having enough will to turn his back to the Commander now. His heart was beating like mad.

Cullen watched him go, never looking away.

Time passed. Like in a haze, Maxwell left the battlements and came down to the main hall again, ignoring everyone who tried to have a conversation. He couldn’t talk, and his thoughts kept returning to what the Commander had said. The Inquisitor’s steps were a little shaky as he reached the throne and grabbed the papers, not really paying much attention to them.

 _I should head to my room and look for the costume…_ He tried his best to focus. The man’s fingers searched through the papers absently and at some point found a document that felt kind of velvety; it was probably the invitation Cullen had been talking about. Maxwell gathered all his will to concentrate on it.

“The Winter Palace, huh,” he muttered, opening the door to the corridor that led to his chamber. Now that the Herald was reading the invitation, he vaguely remembered talking to his advisors about the ball. It had happened a few days ago, but somehow he’d already forgotten…

Attending the ball was a political move. The Inquisition had no idea where the Elder God was hiding or where he would appear next, so the advisors decided to strengthen its position within the society while there was time. Orlais happened to be going through a tough period, and it seemed to be a good opportunity for the Inquisition to interfere and begin shining like a beacon of hope.

Maxwell entered his chamber and went to his working table directly. There he dropped his documents and finished reading the invitation. There was a note attached to the bottom of the paper, and judging by handwriting, it had been left there by sister Leliana.

_Let me remind you that everyone will be wearing masks. A perfect opportunity for an assassin. Our agents will be guarding us secretly, but you should be cautious._

_No wonder,_ Maxwell shrugged at the note. He wasn’t interested in politics but knew the power of the Orlesian Empress was under a threat. He and his advisors would all have to be present at the ball and make their choice. Either support her, or stand for the Grand Duke, Gaspard De Chalons. There was also Ambassador Briala and-

The Inquisitor stretched, showering in the warm rays of sun. He always felt sleepy when it came to politics... And at any rate, he needed to find his costume; according to Cullen, it should have been brought to his place already. So the man looked around, searching for-

 _There it is,_ he noticed a dark cloth on the still messy bed. Maxwell loved his servants.

The Herald went towards the bed, imagining how good he would look in his costume at the ball. But as soon as Maxwell actually reached his destination, he froze, and his eyes locked on the cloth. Long and neat, it looked so much like a… dress.

“What on Thedas…?” Maxwell trailed off, pulling the cloth up. It _was_ a dress, for real. Made specifically for women. Was this some kind of a joke or had his servants forgotten he was a man…?

_Wait, a joke?_

He blinked.

“Of course,” Maxwell snorted, lowering his hands. “Good one, Sera.”

She’d probably taken the real thing to her room or hidden it somewhere the Inquisitor would never bother looking. Like in the stables. Or under his bed. The man dropped the dress on the bed and sank to his knees, checking the second option just in case, but found nothing. Well, it had been a good guess regardless. Maxwell still had a lot of time until the ball, so he would just need to find the elf girl, praise her for the joke and ask to hand back the costume. But right now…

He stood back up, fidgeted a little and picked up the dress again. Then, in a single swift motion, the Herald pressed it to his chest. Long silk touched the floor as Maxwell went to the mirror to look at himself, chuckling.

“Hey there,” he said as soon as he saw himself in it. “Do you think I look pretty?”

His reflection nodded.

***

Orlais was a scary, dangerous and absolutely wonderful place. Duke Gaspard De Chalons met Maxwell in the rich courtyard of the Winter Palace and immediately proceeded with offering a mutually beneficial partnership in light, pleasant words. The place was overcrowded, yet the man chose to focus all his attention on the Inquisitor, and it sure made Maxwell feel special. He didn’t promise anything, however, just agreed to meet the Duke later on. The evening had just begun, and he wanted to at least take a good look around before ruining the political status of the Inquisition.

All his advisors and companions wandered off to do their business or simply enjoy the party, and soon Maxwell found himself lost in the crowd. Every Orlesian guest was wearing a mask, and it was difficult to tell one person from another. Walking among people that had their faces covered, he could only cling to their voices. The Herald, on the other hand (and every guest from the Inquisition as well), kept the mask off, which made him feel rather exposed. Vulnerable, even: Josephine had told him on more than one occasion that the guests of the Palace would be playing the Game – a political event where every word and every wrong glance would be seen and noted. It was hardly fair, but thankfully, Maxwell was good at hiding his emotions.

The Inquisitor spent some time in the courtyard, taking in his surroundings and trying to memorize at least a few voices. There were rumors flying quietly all around him; mostly political ones that made him bored to no end. Maxwell knew he had to listen, but his entire being protested as soon as he tried.

 _Better leave this to Josephine and Leliana…_ He thought, suppressing yet another yawn.

With that in mind, the man made it inside the palace and was about to look around there as well, but the Duke caught him before he wandered off.

“Come, my friend,” he said, leading the Herald into the ballroom. Maxwell had no choice but to follow, and a minute later he was already standing in front of the Empress, hearing his name from someone’s lips. He was being announced.

“…lord Inquisitor Trevelyan, son of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick!” The man finished loudly, and Maxwell bowed.

 _Strange,_ he thought, looking up at the Empress. He’d thought she would be alone, but there was also another woman standing right next to her.  Beside him, Gaspard was silent like a solid wall, but Maxwell noticed how the corners of the man’s mouth lowered.

“Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible,”Celene explained just in time. So it was a special guest…

“What an unexpected pleasure,” the Duchess said. “I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities.”

There was something wrong in the way she put it, and Maxwell frowned, trying to understand where the uneasy feeling was coming from. Before he could grab onto anything, however, the Duchess left, leaving both him and the Duke to the Empress.

“Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom,” Celene ended her greeting calmly. “We look forward to watching you dance.”

The Herald bowed again, still feeling tense. He’d have to talk to his advisors about the Duchess, there was definitely something odd about her. Duke Gaspard excused himself as soon as the Empress finished talking and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Maxwell alone. The evening had finally started.

The Inquisitor looked around, trying to find familiar faces: he didn’t feel that great surrounded by masked strangers. Up on the second floor of the ballroom he noticed Josephine with some other girl; they were chatting quite cheerfully, so there was probably a strong bond between them. To their left Leliana was standing alone and watching over the first floor. She probably never forgot about work.

 _I wonder where the Commander is,_ Maxwell found himself thinking, and his legs started moving on their own. The Herald went up the stairs and tried to find the man on the second floor.  All the guests that were walking around certainly didn’t help, and it took some time before the Inquisitor could find what he’d been looking for.

Cullen was… trapped… yes, he was definitely trapped by a small crowd. The poor man was leaning into the wall so much it made Maxwell think he wanted to fall right through it. What exactly made him so terrified?

There was only one way to find out, and the Herald started walking towards his friend. He didn’t get too close, however, because in the next moment he heard one of the women next to the Commander say something completely unexpected.

“Smile, Commander! You’re so handsome when you smile!”

_What._

“He’s just as handsome when he doesn’t,” a man beside her noticed, sounding irritated. Maxwell felt his legs stop completely. Had he just heard a man hitting on the Commander?!

 _What on Thedas is going on? He’s got a crowd of fanatics after him?_ The Inquisitor halted on his spot, watching. Well, at least he got it why Cullen was so scared. People were trying to move closer to him all the time, and he ended up pushing himself into the wall like some cornered animal.

“Do you enjoy music, Commander?” Another woman asked with a disturbingly sweet voice.

“Everyone enjoys music, madam,” Cullen answered politely. The man sounded like he was already at his limits. Maxwell thought about helping him, but… this was kind of funny, actually. He leaned to a pillar to watch the scene from afar.

The Herald’s luck escaped him at the very same moment, however, as the Commander noticed him as soon as he settled. Cullen stirred slightly, uncomfortable, and gave him a long look. _PLEASE, HELP ME_ , it seemed to scream, and Maxwell sighed. So much for watching…

With a groan the Inquisitor unglued himself from the pillar and approached the crowd.

“Are you married, Commander?” Came the next question. Cullen fidgeted, and Maxwell let himself answer that one.

“Married to the Inquisition,” he grunted, squeezing through the crowd. It took quite a lot of effort to get to the Commander as the circle around him was tight.

“Inquisitor!” A woman recognized him immediately. Which wasn’t a surprise because he wasn’t wearing a mask.

 _Get me out of here, please,_ Cullen’s stare begged him, but there was no way Maxwell was letting go of all the fun so quickly.

“A moment, if we may,” the Herald told the crowd and leaned closer to the Commander. “I take it you’re not enjoying yourself,” he whispered with a smile.

“At this point, the headache I’m developing is preferable to the company,” Cullen answered quietly. He looked to the side quickly and then returned his eyes to Maxwell. “If I knew it would turn out like this, I would stay in Skyhold.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the Inquisitor’s smile widened. “I’d need you here anyway.”

The Commander noticed the pleased expression, and his eyebrows lowered.

“You’re enjoying this,” He guessed with a sigh.

“Yes, I am,” Maxwell confirmed. “Quite a lot, actually. And here I thought all this ball would be about politics.”

“Well, it’s not,” Cullen groaned, irritated. He had a fair reason. “Now get me out of here, because these people just won’t leave me alone. They won’t even let go when I need privacy, and believe me, I’ve tried.”

The Inquisitor nodded. The man then straightened up and turned to face the crowd, and he could swear it had become bigger while he hadn’t been looking. Everyone was wearing a mask, but it was clear that together with him the Commander was attracting a lot more attention. It was starting to get serious. If things continued to proceed like this, Maxwell would find himself trapped along with Cullen pretty soon. He coughed once.

“I am very sorry to be saying this,” the Herald started carefully, “but Commander and I have to go. Right now.”

Behind him, Cullen gulped.

“Go? Why?” A woman asked in a high and sad voice. Other people just stood there, and even with all the masks on, the shared frustration was plainly visible.

“Why… ah…” Maxwell rubbed the back of his neck, trying to come up with an idea. He hadn’t expected anyone to ask for a reason; the Inquisitor status and all. Which probably meant he could just wave this question off... but that would mean losing points, and Maxwell needed his reputation at its best.

He had to come up with a reason.

“Well…” He was running out of time. Another few seconds, and people would start suspecting.

 _We need to talk in private? That will only cause more questions, seeing as I’ve just hinted on this,_ the Herald thought quickly. _What else is there?_

Cullen was ‘helpfully’ quiet, and he breathed in, concentrating. What could he say-

 _We look forward to watching you dance,_ a memory surfaced, fresh in his mind.

_Of course!_

Maxwell looked up with confidence, grabbing the Commander’s hand blindly behind his back. Cullen gasped in surprise.

“We are going to dance!” The Inquisitor announced. Silence followed, and he noticed how many mouths opened. No one had been expecting that.

“Wait-” The Commander started behind him nervously, but Maxwell didn’t listen. He stepped forward, and the crowd dissipated, letting the two men through. The Herald led his friend to the first floor, and Cullen tried to stop him all the time.

“Wait… wait, you can’t be serious,” he was saying. “This is a horrible idea, I’m sure you could-”

“You wanted me to help you,” Maxwell cut him off without looking back. “I came up with a way.”

“Yes but…” Cullen tried to walk slower as the dancing floor was getting closer and closer. “I don’t really… I… Maker, can you just stop?!”

The Herald stepped onto the floor, still holding the Commander’s hand. He turned back to look at Cullen, and music chose to change at that very moment, flowing slowly and freely in the air. The Commander’s chest was heaving.

“I don’t… I have no idea how to dance,” he forced out, embarrassed.

Maxwell waited for a few seconds and then made a slow step back, pulling the man after him.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned. “I have no idea either.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO LATE I'M SO LATE I'M SO LATE  
> I'M SO SORRY

Maxwell’s parents had always shown a unique sort of passion when it had come to entertainment. Expensive family dinners, loud evening parties, crowds of people – these had been their usual surroundings. Unfortunately for the Herald and his siblings, who had been children at the time, that had meant hours and hours of sitting patiently at the table or trying not to step on countless feet of their dancing partners. For Maxwell, a boy who’d found fighting in dirt and sweat mesmerizing, it had been a screaming nightmare. He’d still done his best not to make his parents angry and gone through all the preparations and events without much protest.

Large marble floors, glimmering lights and intoxicating perfumes were only vague memories in the Herald’s head now, and he normally avoided calling out to them. This time, however, Maxwell struggled to recall proper moves from past experiences as his feet stepped cautiously across the floor. It was strange how they managed to remember the basics even though it had been many years since he had had his last dance.

The idea of dancing didn’t seem so bright anymore. It had been an impulse, something Maxwell had thought he’d gotten rid of a long time ago. Fighting had taught him to be cold-headed, and the Inquisitor usually thought twice before making serious decisions. Jumping straight to the royal dance floor had been stupid and nothing like him; if Maxwell had failed to remember the moves, both he and Cullen would’ve become a laughing matter pretty quickly.

The Commander was holding him awkwardly, uneasiness plain on his face and probably the same thoughts in his head, but at least it didn’t look like he wanted to run away anymore. He let Maxwell lead and followed him carefully.

“I’ve seen death,” he said at some point, lowering his head so the Inquisitor would hear him better. “Fought abominations, spirits, darkspawn- whatever it is you can name. Yet I have never felt so vulnerable...”

Maxwell nodded, he felt absolutely the same. And it was his fault, so he supposed he had no right to whine. He’d started it, so he had to keep acting confident till the very end.

“Don’t worry. I’m here with you,” he squeezed the Commander’s hand reassuringly. “Besides, I thought it was worse back there, in the crowd.”

Cullen spared a glance at the balcony and sighed. “Maker’s breath, they are watching.”

“Of course they are,” Maxwell forced on a smile. He’d hoped they’d found something else to get their attention. “You look great today, no wonder they’re all fascinated.”

The Commander looked back at him slowly with a thoughtful and slightly odd expression. He didn’t say anything for a long while, making the Herald bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to understand if he’d crossed the line there. Counter to childhood memories, the memory of their broken friendship was still fresh, and Maxwell was afraid he’d make things go south again. He was about to apologize or to come up with a random subject when the hand on his waist pressed harder. It brought him a little closer to the Commander, closer than necessary, and successfully erased all doubts, giving way to confusion instead.

 _What are you doing?_ Maxwell wanted to ask, but words stuck to his tongue, and he ended up staring at the man quietly.

“You said you can’t dance,” Cullen said, perfectly neutral. “It seems to me that you can.”

“…I may know the basics,” Maxwell answered after a while, lowering his head to hide his eyes.

It wasn’t unpleasant, not at all. On the contrary, being close to the Commander made him feel strangely better. The hands on his body were warm and held the Inquisitor firmly despite the slippery situation. Cullen’s breath was even, indicating he was certain about his actions, and that certainty in its turn boosted Maxwell’s confidence. This was his dear friend, someone he admired and wanted to keep. The Herald just couldn’t bring himself to step away.

Yet he hadn’t forgotten the past. Maxwell remembered everything the Commander had said and done, remembered his reactions. Cullen had told him there was no love, but his actions showed otherwise. Like now, why would he keep the Herald so close if he didn’t want to? Didn’t he realize what he was doing?

Maxwell dared to look up at the Commander’s face again, met his eyes. Cullen looked back at him, calm and focused, and there was no way he didn’t realize what was happening.

_Why are you doing this?_

The Inquisitor‘s fingers slid against the Commander’s hand carefully as he leaned closer. It was a small step into the foreign territory, only a test. Maybe he was overthinking it?

Cullen’s face remained unchanging for a moment, and then his lips stretched in a small, barely noticeable smile. Maxwell swallowed.

_You mean it..?_

Music changed, coming a bit faster than before. Without asking, Cullen took the lead, and the Herald followed, trying to place his thoughts into order. He’d never expected the Commander to do such a thing. Didn’t see any reasoning behind it. Couldn’t quite catch if it bothered him or not…

But he kept close anyway, because somehow it felt right. The dance continued more freely as both men found their pace, and the Herald let go, giving his trust to the Commander. He’d done so before, and it had never bit him back. Whatever was happening, it didn’t make him feel worse, and therefore he allowed it. For now.

Maxwell closed his eyes, letting go of his uncertainties.

When he opened his eyes again, the music floated away and stayed there, in the background, sounding softly as if it was playing from another world. Maybe from the Fade, but definitely from somewhere close and yet so very far. The Inquisitor moved, bathing in red light that was coming through the windows that did not exist, and when he looked up into the Commander’s eyes, they shone red too.

_Look at him. Look closely, because he is the only weakness._

This time the illusions were much more beautiful than the usual ones. No chunks of flesh, no blood, only thin red mist and unearthly music that surrounded Maxwell and his best and only friend. He let it exist.

_He is the only threat._

The Herald stepped on the Commander’s foot by a clumsy mistake, heard his gasp and chuckled.

***

Sadly, good things never lasted too long. When the dance ended, Maxwell didn’t want to let go, but there were things both he and the Commander needed to do. Cullen seemed reluctant to leave as well.

Their mutual desire to stay and have at least one more dance got a whole lot stronger when they noticed the crowd of Cullen’s followers at the stairway. They’d come down a floor while the two men had been occupied, and by this time each of them probably wanted to dance with the Commander. Which would make at least a dozen dances. Maxwell could hardly keep a straight face and knew that behind him Cullen was struggling to do the same.

 _Yeah, well, I haven’t thought about this…_ he gulped. Then he took himself under control.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes.”

They moved towards the stairs, and as soon as they were there, people surrounded them. Maxwell had been right in his guess, everyone wanted their turn. Some women even came close and grabbed onto the Commander, making him wince.

“What a marvelous dance!”

“Commander, would you like to dance with me next?”

“Commander-!”

“We are terribly sorry, but we need to go!” Maxwell announced, pulling Cullen after him. There was no way he’d leave the man to such a cruel fate.

“Where?” Someone asked, and a single question raised a number of following. The Herald just kept walking, and the Commander stuck close, holding onto him for dear life.

It took time to lose followers. Most stubborn went after them back onto the balcony and took their leave only when the remaining ambassadors, except for Cassandra, came to the rescue. Maxwell was glad to get their help, but his thankfulness wavered as soon as Josephine made it clear she was angry. While having his fun, the Herald had forgotten about the Game and drawn unnecessary attention to both him and Cullen. The dance itself wasn’t a grave mistake, but it could have been if he’d made a fool of himself. Having little idea of what to do, the man bowed to the Ambassador and apologized, promising to be more careful from now on.

Cullen got his portion too, but Josephine got softer: she’d probably seen him among the crowd before and didn’t want to push. Besides that, it hadn’t been like he’d had much of a choice with the Herald who’d all but dragged him onto the dance floor.

When the Ambassador was through with her speech, sister Leliana filled both men with the latest details. Nothing dangerous had happened so far, but whispered rumors were flying all around, and they confirmed several possibilities, an assassination included. The Spymaster had already noticed Maxwell wasn’t very good at politics, nor did he want to become better, so she kept it as short and at the same time informative as she could.

“Empress Celene is fascinated with mysticism – foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish,” as she came to the most important part, her voice became quieter. “She has an ‘occult advisor.’ An apostate who charmed the Empress and key members of the court as if by magic.”

 _Not safe_ , Maxwell thought abruptly, lowering himself on the nearest couch. Josephine sat beside him, but Leliana chose to stay where she was.

“I’ve had dealings with her in the past,” the woman continued with an expression that was close to cold, passive disgust. “She is ruthless and capable of anything, and I would not be surprised if she turned up to be the assassin.”

“I guess I’ll have to find her,” Maxwell summed up with a sigh, pressing his elbows against his knees. The list of his tasks was growing larger; he’d never thought the ball would be that difficult in the social aspect. “Everyone here has dirt on them. Even the Duke... I’m not sure whom I can trust.”

“Trust no one,” the Spymaster said. “This is the Game. Just talk to people and remember everything they say. Remember every gesture.”

“Right,” the Herald agreed, and without even noticing he let his eyes wander until they found the Commander who was leaning to the wall nearby. He seemed happy to finally be alone.

“I’ll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better,” the Spymaster finished, pulling back his attention. Maxwell flinched slightly and hurried to look at her.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll try to find something out myself.”

“Good,” Leliana gave him a short nod. “Let me know if you find anything important. I will remain in the ballroom. And remember,” she gave him a serious look, “to not act on your own. There are things we may be able to change, but that doesn’t mean we should do that. An assassin may target our potential enemy.”

“Got it.”

 _Wait, did she just imply that the assassin may be our ally?_ Maxwell frowned, bringing a hand to his chin. _No, that’s correct._ He straightened his back _. We haven’t decided whom we want to support yet. Having the other party killed may be beneficial…_

The Inquisitor watched his advisors leave silently.

_Wouldn’t it be pleasant as well?_

_Wouldn’t it…?_

“Aren’t you supposed to be investigating?”

The Herald flinched again, his train of thought coming to a halt. The Commander should have already left, but the man was standing to Maxwell’s right instead, his elbow pressed to the back of the couch.

“Yes, I just need a moment,” the Inquisitor said, glancing up at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be investigating too?”

Cullen let out a small, frustrated breath.

“I can hardly do anything out there because people keep sticking to me all the time,” he answered, shaking his head. “Besides, you are the face of the Inquisition, and that means only you have… extra access, so to say. If we could do it ourselves, we wouldn’t force it upon you.”

“I suppose so.”

Maxwell sank deeper into the couch, wondering where it would be better to start; he really had to do a lot of talking around.There were several directions to follow, and all of them seemed equally urgent. Not to mention he was a man of sword, not a peace talker… And the Game was still going on, too, he’d have to remember that.

“No Elder God is necessary to destroy order, I swear,” he muttered, watching the floor. “The order can destroy itself just fine. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if Corypheus barged in at some point.”

“I know,” Cullen placed a hand on his shoulder, and the Herald shivered a little from the contact, unprepared. He’d completely forgotten about the dance, and now the memory suddenly came back to him, determined to push his concentration aside. “At this rate, we should be prepared for anything.”

“Yeah.”

Maxwell stirred, but otherwise hesitated to move. Maybe he was trying to give himself some extra time before diving into the boring political mess. Maybe he didn’t want to leave Cullen alone. Maker knew it wouldn’t be long before a new crowd surrounded him. The thought was strangely irritating.

“You should go,” Cullen squeezed his shoulder once. “Be careful. Don’t attract unwanted attention. If you find something off, come talk to me.”

_If I manage to get through the horde of your loyal followers, I will._

 “Of course,” the Inquisitor said aloud. But despite his voiced agreement, Maxwell didn’t move.

“…I’ll keep an eye for the guests,” the Commander said a few seconds later. His voice was a mix of puzzlement and concern, and his hand lingered on Maxwell’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

Somewhere in the background music changed from slow to fast and gained a rather cheerful mood. Maxwell wondered why exactly he was still sitting on the same spot.

“I liked the dance.”

“Me too.”

A couple of seconds passed, and the Inquisitor realized what he’d just said.

“What-?” He looked up at Cullen, sharply, and the Commander laughed - a familiar, bright sound that always touched Maxwell’s strings. The Herald opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to come up with a response. Then, after a while, he gave up and snickered. This turn of events had been totally unexpected yet worked perfectly on him: whatever state he’d just been in, it vanished.

“Very professional, Commander,” the Herald brushed Cullen’s hand off playfully with his own and stood up.

“I try,” Cullen answered, smiling. The man’s hand dropped to his side and stayed there. “Now go. We don’t have all evening.”

 _Yes, I shouldn’t be sitting here,_ Maxwell agreed instantly. _Duties are waiting, I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time already. But before I go…_

_Can’t be that blind._

“I… uh…” The Herald made a few steps backwards and hid his hands in his pockets. It took effort to look the Commander in the face, knowing what he was about to ask. “Maybe one more? Later…?”

“One more…?” Cullen frowned, probably not getting it, and Maxwell gathered all his will to not throw a ‘nevermind, forget I said anything’ at him. He’d almost lost by the time the Commander continued. “Oh! You mean a dance,” he said. “We’ll see how the ball goes. If everything is fine at the end, then why not?”

_The affection. He’s using it._

“Okay!” Maxwell nodded cheerfully. “I’m off, then.”

Gone were all thoughts about crowds of followers.  As the Inquisitor was leaving, he placed his trust in the Commander once again.

***

Orlesians loved talking, and they loved manipulating even more. As Maxwell went through with his objective, he met many who tried to use their skills in attempts to win his support (and support of the Inquisition along with that). All thanks to Josephine’s lecture, the Herald was able to politely refuse and stay neutral when it came to rumors and tricky questions.

He’d talked to the ambassadors, to the guests, even to some servants (though in latter case he mostly eavesdropped). The only really important person he'd managed to get to, however, was the Duke. While the Empress had chosen to send her trusted maids to deal with the Inquisitor (and her 'occult advisor' had been away too), Gaspard always remained open to discussions. Maxwell could allow himself behave more freely around the man, and perhaps it was due to their mutual interests: the Duke was a warrior like him, after all, and he acted accordingly. It was also the only Orlesian who despised the Game. That and other little things made Maxwell want to support him.

That was until one of Leliana’s agents came with news that put so much dirt on him that Maxwell started to doubt. There were so many rumors flying around, and not a single person was clean. The Herald quickly found out that he too was a subject of whispered talks, and some people considered him an assassin.

 _Which is completely senseless,_ he thought, dismissing the agent. _How am I supposed to understand what’s happening, when everyone’s playing theater?_

Rumors or no, at this rate the Inquisition would be helpless against possible threats. Maybe it was already late. Maybe the assassin was already towering before the dead Empress.

 _Assuming she is the target,_ Maxwell reminded himself, entering the ballroom again.

He quietly wished the advisors had let him do more than just talking. It was true that the Herald had suffered quite a strong breakdown earlier, but that didn’t mean it would happen for the second time. Getting into restricted areas wouldn’t really do much harm, would it? If danger was lurking in there, Maxwell was completely certain he’d be able to crush it-

“Well, well, what have we here?”

_…huh?_

That voice he didn’t recognize. The Inquisitor frowned and turned back to find the source. He didn’t notice the owner of the voice right away, but then a woman that was coming down the stairs caught his attention. It was the first time someone started talking to Maxwell without fully approaching him first.

She wore a dress that looked much more expensive than any costume the Inquisitor had seen so far. Soft-looking black hair and numerous jewels added to the woman’s appearance, and most importantly, she wore no mask. If the Inquisitor had to choose the queen of the ball, that would definitely be her… However, a faint, weak feeling formed in his chest as soon as he saw that woman.

_She’s dangerous._

Maxwell continued standing still, his eyes locked on her.

“The leader of the Inquisition, fabled Herald of the faith,” the woman went on, stepping down onto the floor. “Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of blessed Andraste herself.”

She placed her hands on her hips and simply stood there, and yet Maxwell’s nervousness rose with each passing second. It wasn’t just the woman’s presence, it was the way she was addressing him, praising him- but she wasn’t, in fact, she sounded like she was mocking him. Her sly eyes bore into him, and the Inquisitor felt naked. The man folded his hands across his chest, and while he was aware it was a useless gesture of defense, he still felt a little safer.

The woman smiled.

“What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder?” She talked to him like he was some kind of a rare animal. “Do you even know?”

Maxwell straightened up. That was a tricky question, and it came from a woman without a mask. He’d have to be careful with his words.

“Who are you?” He asked instead of answering.

The woman pursed her lips so slightly he’d almost missed it. Maybe she wasn’t used to it when people ignored her questions. When she answered, though, her voice was calm.

“I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.”

_That name…_

“ _The_ Morrigan?” Maxwell asked, his surprise almost showing. If it was a Witch of the Wilds, then it was no wonder her appearance was so intimidating. And that would certainly explain Leliana’s lack of warmth towards the ‘occult advisor’.

The woman smiled slightly. It was a good guess, then.

“You have been very busy this evening,” She started walking, and the Herald had to keep up not to lose her. This woman was the only one he’d failed to find before; no matter where he’d looked, she’d always been absent. “Your interest I share, considering recent events.”

“Recent events?” The Herald repeated. So, she’d been watching him from somewhere far, which meant she’d probably known he’d been searching for her.

“Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls,” the woman said. “An agent of Tevinter.”

Maxwell froze on his spot.

“Tevinter…?”

“Yes, indeed,” Morrigan confirmed. She’d stopped as well, and was now looking at the Inquisitor with a neutrally curious expression.  Maxwell had to gather himself fast: he’d joked about having Corypheus join the ball, but he’d never expected to catch a real hint of that happening. The Elder God had disappeared months ago, and no one knew where he was hiding or what he’d been up to… was this the place and time where he would finally strike?

“You…” He coughed, catching himself before he would continue with an unwise accusation. “Is there more you can tell me about this unwelcome guest?”

“There is,” the woman answered. Maxwell glanced around quickly to make sure no one was nearby, listening. “A key was found on the Tevinter’s body. I would have given it to you, but I do not have it with me anymore, I am afraid.”

“You don’t?” The Herald frowned. “Where is it, then?”

“I gave it to someone else,” Morrigan said. “To someone you can trust.”

“But why not me?”

The woman gave Maxwell a long, quiet look that almost made him shiver.

“You are…” She trailed off for a moment. “…not quite ready.”

_What? Why?_

“How so?” The Herald asked, his sudden surprise turning into confusion. “I’ve been in the Fade, protected the Inquisition from Corypheus, I- just how am I not ready?”

Morrigan placed her hands together, and it didn’t escape from Maxwell how her face changed, stillness in her eyes giving way to amusement.

“You are a very peculiar creature,” she said with a small smile. “’tis true you have done quite a lot. But have your victories left you unharmed?”

_She is dangerous. Do not listen._

“It is common for a man to possess one mind,” the woman continued. “You... are different. Have you witnessed your own death, I wonder? Are you still wandering in the mists of deception?”

“My… death?” Confused, Maxwell had no idea what she was talking about. If he tried hard enough, however, he could recall Corypheus saying something similar… “What are you talking about? I’m perfectly alive!”

_Stop. Listening. Now._

“Are you?”

Morrigan lowered her head to the side, black hair covering her cheeks as she watched. A creature, she’d called him. The Herald stepped back.

“If you know something, then just tell me,” he said, and he hated how his voice trembled; not with just confusion or nervousness, it was long-forgotten anger.

“I can only tell you that-”

Whatever it was the woman wanted to say, it never got past her lips. A sudden high-pitched scream pierced through the closed doors in the corridor, coming from the room in far end. Maxwell jumped on his spot and turned around instantly after that; his thoughts in a blur and feet ready, he ran towards the source.  The door opened before he got too close, though, and then something utterly unbelievable began.

A fragile elven servant ran out of the room, her back covered in blood. Her shoulders shuddered as she cried, and her hands clutched the fabric of her dress desperately. As soon as the girl saw Maxwell, she tried running towards him, but her feet got tangled, and she fell down instead.

“Help!” She shouted, and Maxwell felt goosebumps cover his skin. It had begun. It all had just begun, and he wasn’t prepared-

“Wait!”

The Herald blinked. The voice was familiar.

“No! Get away from me!” The servant cried. “Don’t touch me! Help!”

Maxwell halted mid-step as another person appeared from behind the now open door. Almost completely naked, all covered in blood, it was Varric - his perfectly normal dwarven companion. As soon as Varric was out in the corridor, he froze on his spot and raised both his hands to show that he didn’t mean any harm.

“It’s not even your blood!” He hissed. “Keep quiet, no one here wants to hurt you!”

“No! Somebody, please help!” The servant ignored him and started crawling towards the Inquisitor. Maxwell just stood there, speechless.

_What on Thedas is going on?!_

“Step aside,” came a voice from beside him, and then Morrigan appeared in his view. Without hesitating, she approached the hysterical servant, and a few seconds later the girl was completely silent.

“Did you… did you just kill her-?” Maxwell breathed out.

“No. She is just asleep,” Morrigan answered calmly. “It would be wise to bring her back into the room before someone notices.”

“Before-”

_Oh, Maker. We’re in the middle of a goddamn royal ball-_

The Herald looked over his shoulder, already expecting to see a horrified crowd of Orlesians. To his surprise, however, no one was standing close. Some guests were chatting in the distance, but they weren’t even looking at his direction. Morrigan had obviously noticed his movement as she explained the situation before he asked.

“I am a mage… as I am certain you already know,” she said. “And it is a duty of mine to keep both the Empress and her ball safe. No guest will see or hear this incident.”

“Oh…” Was all Maxwell could say to that. He’d underestimated Morrigan; he should have known better. “I see…”

“I assume you have found what you were looking for?” The woman asked meanwhile, and it made the Herald remember about the bloody, naked dwarf in the corridor. He was about to ask Varric what he had been doing, but another voice cut in from inside the room.

“Is she gone…?”

Maxwell could feel his hand’s urge to go up and cover his face in utter embarrassment. He knew whom the voice belonged to. Varric sighed, placing his hands on his hips.

“You can say so,” he shrugged at the entrance of the room. “And here I hoped she had a sense of humor.” He then looked back at Morrigan. “And yes, I believe we’ve found it.”

The owner of the second voice appeared shortly after- or rather his higher part. Short black hair all ruffled, blood leaking down his forehead - it was no other than Garrett Hawke.

“I should have guessed…” Maxwell muttered. His eyes then caught sight of the Champion’s bare shoulder, and he let out a heavy breath. “What happened? Why are you two naked and covered in blood?”

“Maybe you should continue this conversation inside the room,” Morrigan offered. “I will return to the Empress. Celene may be in danger, and I cannot stay away from her side any longer.”

“Yeah, come on, help me drag her back into the room,” Varric motioned to the Herald. “Hawke needs to take care of himself first.”

Maxwell nodded briefly, but before actually going he turned back to the woman.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” He asked. There were a lot of questions lurking in his head, and they all needed answers. Besides, Morrigan seemed to know something about his illness, and he was desperate to find out what exactly.

“I truly cannot,” she answered. “But we will have our time to talk. After.”

“Okay. Later then,” the Inquisitor agreed. Sadly, he did have more important matters at hand, so he let Morrigan return to the place where she was needed most. The man hurried to the dwarf as soon as she started walking, and together they picked up the sleeping girl. Thankfully, she hadn’t fallen on her back, and there wasn’t much blood left in the corridor.

When they entered the room, Hawke was sitting on the edge of a large bed and using a corner of its blanket as a towel. All over the Champion’s chest and hands were cuts; some of them looked rather deep and painful, but it seemed like he’d already taken care of most. His legs suffered less: dark breeches were torn in several places, but there was little blood on them.

“Who hurt you that bad?” Maxwell asked as they lowered the servant onto the couch next to the exit. Hawke raised his eyes from the bowl of water where a separate piece of fabric was soaking.

“Spies,” he answered. “A lot of them, actually. I would’ve died if Varric wasn’t there with me.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the dwarf said. His words sounded forced. “I hardly did anything out there…”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think so,” the Champion objected. “I just-”

He suddenly hissed, and the hand of his that was pressing the wet cloth to his chest shuddered. Maxwell winced; he could only imagine how horribly it hurt. Varric mirrored the Herald’s action, probably without realizing it.

“Maybe you should just-” He started quietly.

“No,” Hawke cut him off. “It’s not a necessity.”

_What are they talking about?_

“What’s Varric talking about?” The Inquisitor asked aloud.

Hawke bit his lip. It could be a reaction to pain, the man was still in the process of cleaning the wounds after all. But somehow Maxwell doubted.

“It’s nothing important,” the Champion answered after a moment. “And we have to talk about serious things here, anyway. You might want to sit.”

The Inquisitor was curious, yet he obeyed quietly and dropped on the corner of the couch, careful not to disturb the sleeping servant (though he was pretty sure nothing could wake her up right now).

“There really is an assassin?” He tried to guess.

“Worse,” the Champion promised.

***

Several minutes later the door was bashed open as the Herald stormed out into the corridor. He was in such a hurry he didn’t even bother to close it, and so he ran as fast as he could. Thankfully, the ballroom wasn’t very far.

“-be that light! We must lead our people safely through these troubled times,” Celene was proceeding with her speech in the now quiet ballroom. “We must be their guiding star. Tonight, the war dividing us must end!”

_If I don’t hurry, the war won’t be the only thing that ends here…_

What Hawke had told him made Maxwell’s views turn upside down. At the ball everyone was plotting against each other: the Empress, the Duke, even the Ambassador – everyone. It was an unfortunate mistake; if only Orlesians didn’t consist of lies, there would be no problem at all.

The biggest threat in all that mess was, however, someone entirely different.

“My friends, we are here to witness an historic moment,” a different voice announced. A voice Maxwell hadn’t expected to hear so soon. Hadn’t wanted to. His feet worked faster.

The Inquisitor should have went on with the uneasy feeling that had settled in his gut as soon as he’d seen the Grand Duchess of Lydes. Thanks to his ignorance, she would strike when no one was ready. When _he_ wasn’t ready. And the worst thing was-

“A great change is coming for all of us.”

Maxwell got to the stairs, and there, on the other side, the Empress was standing together with the Duchess. They were so close and yet so far away, and the Herald would never make it in time to stop the assassin from acting.

“Run!” He shouted as there was little else he could do from such a distance. All masks and faces turned to him, and that was all the distraction the Duchess needed: with a swift movement of her hand she stabbed the Empress right in the back. Celene gasped, bending forward slightly, and blood splashed from her stomach like a small fountain.

“For Corypheus!” The Duchess shouted. “Kill them!”

Maxwell only had a split second to catch her further movements as a horde of armed men poured into the ballroom from all possible doors and directions. The soldiers and agents of the Inquisition didn’t wait long to act as well, and they clashed immediately, making the guests panic and run about wildly. The Herald dashed after the assassin, doing his best to skip other fights.

“Inquisitor, wait!” The Commander’s voice called out to him, but Maxwell didn’t listen. He only had one thing to take care of.

He ran and ran, and then he found himself outside in the backyard. The Duchess stopped there as well, and there was no one besides them. She turned to the Herald, a knife in her hand. He’d thought she would launch at him, but all she did was cut her dress. Torn in half, it fell to her feet.

 _Thin leather, of course,_ Maxwell glared at her costume. The Duchess was a wise assassin.

“I should thank you,” she said, raising her hand up. The knife was now pointed at the Inquisitor. “You played your part marvelously. The Council of Heralds will devour each other. And while they do? Corypheus will come.”

A bright spark of green flashed to the woman’s left; Maxwell glanced at it and then returned his eyes to the Duchess. How conveniently she was standing next to a rift. He hadn’t seen these in a while... The Anchor on the man’s hand buzzed, hidden under the thick glove.

“Inquisitor!”

Maxwell flinched, and judging by the Duchess’ reaction, she was surprised too. Unfortunately, the surprise turned out to be harmful as she threw the knife she’d been holding right at the intruder.

It was a miracle Cullen was able to avoid direct hit. His hand, however, caught the knife and let go of the sword he'd been holding. With a gasp the man stumbled and leaned back to the wall. The Duchess moved faster than Maxwell expected, and in a matter of seconds she was already standing before the Commander and about to get rid of the unwanted guest. The Herald’s heart froze.

“Wait!” He shouted, but the woman wouldn’t listen. She grabbed another knife from the belt that was attached to her thigh and attacked again, aiming at Cullen’s chest.

The Commander was mostly ready this time, and he stopped the lethal blow from happening. The yell that followed, though, made Maxwell’s head spin. If the Duchess hadn’t hit him directly, there was a part of him that suffered.

_His hand. He tried to shield with his hand._

Maxwell’s anger was suddenly overwhelming. He growled, and his eyes locked on the assassin. The Anchor was pulsing with hatred.

Cullen attacked the woman at the same time, and she avoided the hit by simply jumping back. Then the Duchess ran to the nearest bushes- not intending to escape. As it turned out, there was a bow hidden there, and she pulled it out. The sharp tip of an arrow pointed at the Inquisitor.

“I will just kill you both,” she announced.

Cries of agony and shouts of fury were rising from the ballroom. Maxwell pulled the glove off his hand, letting the green light out.

“Not on my watch,” he said.

The Duchess snorted and let the arrow fly towards him, but it disappeared before it was able to reach its target.

“What-” The woman started, confused.

Then the dance began.

The rift between them opened at the Herald’s command, bright green pouring from the Fade into the mortal world. The arrow that it had previously caught was now sticking out of a demon’s head as it stepped out onto the soft dirt. The Duchess gasped.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen yelped from somewhere close. Maxwell turned to look at him as demons continued to come out, and he saw the Commander’s left hand wrapped in a cloth, all bloody. The anger was so strong now he could hardly keep himself together.

_Won’t ever forgive._

He glared at the Duchess again. The demons were creeping slowly towards her, and she started wasting her arrows. It was a useless thing to do; if she’d chosen to run, she would have probably won additional time to come up with something better.

 _You work for Corypheus, and you still don’t know it takes more than simple arrows to kill these,_ he thought as soon as the creatures got to her and started tearing her apart. It was unbelievably pleasant to watch.

Beside him, Cullen brought his good hand to his mouth.

“Maker…” He breathed out.

The demons finished with the assassin and turned to the remaining two mortals. The Commander grabbed Maxwell’s hand.

“We need to run,” he whispered with clear panic in his voice. “If we don’t bring help, the demons will kill us too...”

He tried to pull the Herald back into the palace, but Maxwell wouldn’t budge. The man just stood there silently, watching both the rift and the creatures it was letting out.

 _No, they won’t_.

“Come on!” Cullen urged him to move.

“Wait,” the Inquisitor said. His lips stretched in a calm smile.

“Wait? What’s going on? Why are you smiling?!”

“They are not moving.”

The Commander stopped struggling abruptly, his attention now drawn to the demons. It was like the Herald said: the creatures were looking at them, but they didn’t make any attempts to approach. Cullen opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to say anything.

“They won’t harm me,” Maxwell said quietly. “They won’t harm you, either. Don’t worry.”

“Why-?” The Commander asked, completely stunned.

The Anchor was pulsing pleasantly, and the Herald let himself enjoy it.

“I can ask them to kill everyone else,” he continued, his smile still present. “They will listen.”

“What?! No!” Cullen grabbed both his shoulders and turned the Inquisitor sharply so they would face each other. “You can’t do that! Why would you even want to?! I… Gh…”

He grunted as his wounded hand trembled. Grabbing someone like that was a very unwise move... And not only that, the Herald found himself watching the blood as it leaked from under the cloth that was wrapped around the Commander’s injury. This time, his smile disappeared.

“…every single one,” he muttered.

Cullen looked up at him, pain reflecting in his eyes.

“Wait…”

“I will kill every single one,” Maxwell said louder. “No one will stop me from doing that.”

“You can’t-”

The Inquisitor detached himself from the Commander and stepped towards the entrance to the palace. Cullen let out a shaky breath.

“You should rest,” Maxwell said, turning back. “Soon it will be over. I will find Solas and send him to treat your wound.”

“Stop…”

The Herald didn’t listen. Anger was burning everything there was inside him, and he continued walking silently, craving for massacre. For death. His steps were confident and steady.

“I told you to stop!” Cullen shouted from where he’d been left. Maxwell halted for a second and then went on with his plan; he wouldn’t stop no matter what happened. His friend had to understand.

The Inquisitor had only managed several steps forward, however, because the Commander grabbed him once again. The man turned him around quite forcefully, and Maxwell wanted to say something to make him more willing to rest, but then Cullen was already pressing their mouths together, and he forgot about everything.


	13. Chapter 13

Maxwell’s lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes snapped wide open as he tried to process what was happening. His hands moved against the Commander’s chest, uncertain if they wanted to get the man closer or to push him away entirely. His mind was a blank space; all anger and determination had evaporated, leaving nothing but emptiness that was so overwhelming it hardly allowed anything in.

 _I… wanted to…_ The Inquisitor struggled to grab onto drifting memories, trying to remind himself what he’d originally intended to do.

But Cullen was standing right there, doing something Maxwell had never expected him to even consider. Being first at it, too. And it didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel bad at all…

_He’s bleeding._

The Anchor flashed alive against the Commander’s clothes. The man winced, and his grip on the Herald became stronger as he grunted quietly in pain. The moment was short, yet it was enough to remind Maxwell about everything that had just happened, and anger sparkled inside him once more, feeding on the vivid memory of seeing Cullen hurt. The Inquisitor pressed his hands firmly against the Commander’s chest, trying to push him away.

In response Cullen all but growled and shoved him against the nearest wall. He hadn’t probably thought about being gentle and thus ended up acting overly forceful, and Maxwell gasped as his back hit the cold stone. Opening his mouth was a mistake the Commander must’ve been waiting for because he didn’t hesitate and just stuck his tongue in. The man’s unharmed hand slid down and grabbed the Herald’s glowing one, pressing against the Anchor and lacing their fingers together. His presence was suddenly a lot more powerful.

The Inquisitor got weak in his knees. What he was experiencing here was new and foreign to him, and it became far too difficult to concentrate. The voice of reason kept ringing quieter and quieter in his head until it was completely muted; Maxwell’s fingers twitched and slowly bended, closing around the Commander’s. Green light poured through the smallest of gaps between their hands but was soon forgotten altogether.

Maxwell breathed into the kiss and let his free hand go up until it found the Commander’s neck and snaked around it, bringing them closer. He finally let his eyes close. Cullen relaxed when he did so, and his hold became softer: there was no more pinning to the wall to make sure the Herald wouldn’t run away.

“It’s okay,” he whispered when they broke for air, and even then their lips were almost touching. “I’m not hurt that bad.” He caught Maxwell’s upper one and bit it slightly, earning a trembling sigh. “I promise. You don’t need demons. You have me...”

The Herald gave a hardly visible nod and only leaned forward when the Commander stopped talking. Cullen pulled away carefully.

“Close the rift,” he insisted. “Please, do it for me.”

Maxwell breathed unevenly; it was so hard to concentrate when every single thought of his was out of order. Still, he slowly detached his hand from the Commander’s, raised it up and connected the Anchor to the rift. Didn’t bother looking at it, only tried to proceed with the kiss – thankfully, it was allowed this time.

The demons hissed and growled in objection but otherwise stayed where they were until they were no more. A minute has not passed before the rift disappeared, taking them all away... and then there was nothing but clear air.

Cullen smiled against the Herald’s lips, gave him one last peck and leaned away.

“I was only hoping for a dance…” Maxwell breathed out, trying to focus. Somehow, he was starting to feel weaker… that had to have something to do with the rift he’d just closed.

 “Sorry we skipped it,” the Commander chuckled, stepping away. It was hard not to follow. “I promise we can dance later, but now it would be better to return. I don’t doubt our victory…” He glanced at the entrance to the palace. “But we still need to see how everything went back there.”

“Yeah…” The Inquisitor agreed. “Are you… sure your hand is fine?”

“Yes,” the man nodded without hesitating. “Do not worry about it. I’ll see a healer as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

With that aside, they moved towards the entrance – Cullen first, and Maxwell after him. The latter only managed a couple of steps before collapsing onto the ground.

***

When the Herald came to, he found himself awfully tired and sitting in a moving carriage, which, as far as he vaguely remembered, belonged to the Inquisition. He was covered with a thick blanket and pressed against something warm - had to be the Commander, the overcoat was unmistakable. Solas and Cassandra settled on the other side and in front of them, looking all worried (or calm, in the elf’s case). Cullen had an arm wrapped around Maxwell, making sure he wouldn’t fall down. The other hand, his left one, had already been properly bandaged and was now resting on his knee…

It lacked two fingers.

The Inquisitor growled, unable to take his eyes away. Cullen’s ring finger and the pinky one were missing; it must’ve been the price for blocking the assassin’s attack.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll live,” the Commander said, shifting him closer. The Herald’s head ended up lying on top of the man’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” Maxwell whispered, squeezing the blanket.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cullen assured him.

Silence took over for a while. The Herald made an attempt at placing his thoughts into order and calming himself down, otherwise he kept returning to the Winter Palace. If he strained his ears, he was able to make out dull steps of their walking horses and a steady rhythm of water drops falling to the ground. It was soothing.

“Cullen brought you back to the ballroom. You were unconscious,” Cassandra said. The Inquisitor looked up at her, almost unfocused. “Our strength exceeded the one that opposed us, of course, and we also had Hawke… though I am not sure how he managed to get to the Winter Palace at all.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s done it once already, after all.”

Maxwell nodded slightly.

“Who got the throne?” He asked.

“The Duke,” Cullen answered. “Ambassador Briala tried to throw dirt on him but ended up having all the blame to herself. Our agents managed to prove her guilty of killing the ambassadors for both parties.”

“Yes. Hawke… may have helped us,” Cassandra added reluctantly.

“I see,” Maxwell muttered and glanced back at the Commander’s hand, not really interested in anything else. For a moment, the rain and the lazy movement of the carriage were the only talkers again.

“How are you feeling?” Solas asked. He’d probably noticed how the Inquisitor kept returning to the man’s injury. Maxwell shrugged – or tried to do so as his body still didn’t obey him very well.

“Fine, I guess… Though I’m not sure what happened back there,” he said, raising his hand from under the blanket to rub his eyes. “My memories are all fuzzy. I don’t remember the most part.”

Cullen tensed against him, suddenly becoming way too solid for the Inquisitor’s liking.

“What do you remember?” He asked, his voice strained.

“I remember opening the rift to kill the Duchess,” Maxwell answered calmly. “When she was dead, I closed it and collapsed… That’s about all I know.”

“Nothing more?” Cullen pushed, and his hold on the Herald became less confident.

“Not really,” Maxwell said. Under the blanket his marked hand found the Commander’s good one and squeezed it weakly, telling otherwise.

“…oh,” the man got it after a moment, and his confidence returned together with a relieved, almost soundless sigh. In front of them both Cassandra and Solas frowned in perfect sync.

“Did you give me lyrium while I was out?” Maxwell tried to change the subject.

“That and several recovery spells,” the elf confirmed after a short while. “This condition may be a result of closing the rift while not being healthy enough to do so. With proper care, you should return to your normal condition soon.”

“Got it.”

“We are glad it didn’t get worse,” Cassandra said. “Maybe you are slowly recovering? From your illness?”

“It is too soon to decide,” the Commander shook his head.

Maxwell bit the inside of his lip; Cassandra had no idea what exactly he was trying to get though. Fatigue was the least of his concerns... He still remembered how he’d wanted to unleash the demons upon the Winter Palace, to kill everyone inside. Now it all seemed like a rushed, completely raw idea: he certainly wanted the agents of the Inquisition and both his companions and advisors alive and nearby. Yet the anger had been too much at the time, and he would have probably gone with his plan and let the demons slaughter the entire place if the Commander hadn’t stopped him…

Now that he was thinking about it, had Cullen kissed him only to pull him out of his angry state? Maxwell tried to swallow a lump that was suddenly present in his throat. Indeed, the place where it had happened wasn’t the best choice for a first kiss… nor was the timing right. And the Commander _had_ tried to stop him before going for it. Was that kiss simply the last resort?

The Herald’s grip on Cullen’s hand weakened. All of this, the memory of them kissing, the memory of being pressed against each other and the reality of it now – all of it seemed so out of place, so wrong.

Had the Commander ever wanted it? What if he hadn’t? Surely, if he hadn’t wanted anything of the sort, he wouldn’t be pressing Maxwell against himself, would he?

“You need to rest,” Solas said, and the Inquisitor blinked, startled. Cullen and Cassandra were busy talking, but it seemed like the elf had been watching him for the whole time. Maxwell let out a small breath; maybe he needed to trust the Commander here and simply ask him later. Solas was right: he’d been through a lot today already.

“I will,” the Herald said, trying to smile. It was comforting how the elf showed concern about his health… yet deep inside Maxwell wondered how Solas was always able to determine when he was feeling insecure.

***

It turned out that the Inquisition did not only return home having all the support of the new Orlesian Emperor, it also took the ‘occult advisor’ under its wing. While staying away from the palace, Morrigan chose to wear far less formal and a lot more open clothes – a decision that earned her quite a number of awkward stares. According to the Spymaster, she’d always worn these during her adventures with the Warden.

But that wasn’t really important for the Inquisitor. Having the mage live in Skyhold promised the man something he’d wanted for a long time: explanations. Morrigan knew things about his strange illness, and she’d promised to talk about it after the ball would be over.

The first opportunity appeared a day after reaching Skyhold. After having had his templar training, a breakfast and the usual dosage of lyrium, Maxwell went to meet the woman in the garden where he knew she would be spending her time. Morrigan was sitting on a bench and watching the grass, calm and deep in thought. Her face was free of emotion, but the Herald thought he’d caught a glimpse of longing in her eyes.

“Good morning,” he greeted, approaching. “I hope it’s a good time to talk.”

Morrigan looked up – not surprised to see him, not even startled.

“Yes, I do remember promising that,” she said, straightening her back. Maxwell sat down beside the woman: it wouldn’t be polite to stare down at her while asking countless questions about himself. ”Ask away.”

The Inquisitor rubbed the Anchor that was pulsing steadily beneath the glove.

“Back in the Winter Palace you told me I was dead,” he started without hesitation. “I’m sure I’m alive, so… what makes you think I’m not?”

Morrigan laid her eyes on the glove as well.

“We will come to that, Inquisitor. More importantly, I told you that you have a… peculiarity hidden in your mind, if I may call it that,” she added. “Have you looked back at what you have seen and done? That alone may be enough to satisfy some of your curiosity, if you are a good thinker.”

“I do remember what I’ve seen and done,” Maxwell reassured her. “And I don’t recall acting like I have a ‘peculiarity’ in my head- what does that even mean?”

He glanced at Morrigan and found her smiling.

“As you may know, I was among the Warden’s companions during the Blight,” she started from afar. “I met many of those who surround you these days, and that should explain how I know about some of your hardships.”

“I thought Leliana didn’t like you?” Maxwell lowered an eyebrow.

The woman’s smile became slightly wider. “’tis not important right now, inquisitor. Let us talk about your adventure to Therinfal Redoubt instead, shall we?”

“The templar fortress?”

“Yes, indeed. ‘tis where the illness of yours takes its roots, I suspect.”

Maxwell thought back to the mission. Almost everything he’d seen in the Fade was no more than a blur now, save for a couple of things he doubted he’d ever be able to forget. There he had also met Cole and the Envy demon… that had to be it. The Inquisitor supposed he had to be honest here if he wanted his answers.

“An Envy demon tried to possess me,” the man said. It was strangely unsettling to be opening to someone who wasn’t Cullen or Solas. “A friendly spirit saved me from being completely taken over, but I believe the demon got locked in my head in the process. I used to have internal quarrels. They are long gone, though.”

“So, there was a demon.  You have not told anyone about that, I assume?” Morrigan asked.

Maxwell looked at her hesitantly.

“Cole knows. The friendly spirit. There are two more besides him: a friend of mine and a healer who’s been with me since the Anchor appeared.”

“I see,” the woman said.

“Next happened the attack on Haven. I met Corypheus there, and he did something to my head. Pressed his hand to my face and almost choked me.” The Herald raised his hand to his forehead. “Told me he wanted to kill me, but I was already dead... I’m still trying to figure out what he did to me. Only things I know are that the demon disappeared, I started to have nightmares… to see illusions, too. And there was anger. So much of it, in fact, that I could hardly contain it sometimes.”

“But you stopped arguing with yourself.”

“That’s right,” Maxwell confirmed. “There’s been no other voice in my head ever since. I’m thankful for that; I had a lot on my back without it.”

“What happened next?”

“I got better,” the Inquisitor said. “All thanks to lyrium and the templar training. I did have a major breakdown once after choosing this path, but since then nightmares haven’t been bothering me that much. They are present but hardly harmful. And I can control the illusions now. Can’t touch them, but still... And anger is not an issue anymore.”

_Except it was when I wanted to wipe the entire Winter Palace. But it got bad because Cullen got hurt, didn’t it? A normal reaction._

“It’s all under control.”

Morrigan let out a sigh, and Maxwell tensed for a second. Getting such a reaction after delivering news was never a good sign.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Whose idea was it to start giving you lyrium?” She answered with a question of her own.

“Uh…” The Herald didn’t expect to hear that; Morrigan made it sound like taking it was a mistake. But even if it was, there had been no alternative back then.

“My healer- er… Solas suggested it,” he said reluctantly. “There wasn’t anything else we could do, and I was getting worse and worse with each passing day. He’s been with me since the beginning, so I believe him. He’s doing everything he can.”

“Is he,” Morrigan wondered. Maxwell frowned, not exactly getting what she was trying to say. When he was about to ask, however, she continued talking. “Corypheus told you that you are dead because that’s how it is,” she said. “A man only possesses his own mind. When you allowed the demon to be a part of you – voluntarily or not - you were yourself no longer. Therefore, you – as you know yourself originally – are dead.”

“You mean… I share my consciousness with the demon?”

“’Share’ is not an accurate word anymore,” the woman continued. “’tis noticeable when a demon is present, and I can assure you that there is none here at the moment, only faint traces of it. ‘tis why I suspect that what Corypheus did to you was melding you two into a unity. That would explain the lack of internal arguing: you cannot take your voice apart from the demon’s anymore. As to other ill effects, I am not yet sure.”

Maxwell bit his lip, averting his eyes to the grass. He could hardly believe what he’d just heard... He did remember Solas talking about the merging thing, but he’d never expected that to actually occur without him noticing. How came Solas had never told him about it? He must have noticed! They’d been through so much together, struggled through the nightmares side by side, made decisions crucial for the Inquisitor’s health…

“This can’t be true,” he said firmly. “I would become different if merging happened, and I don’t feel any difference at all. Anger aside, of course, I can control it.”

_The Winter Palace was just an accident._

“Sometimes ‘tis hard to see how one is changing,” Morrigan objected. “The air around you tells me that you are no simple human. Corypheus took away your defense and let the demon run through your veins like poison.”

“I just… It can’t be,” the Inquisitor muttered. “Solas would never hide this from me, there’s… there’s no reason for him to do so...”

The woman stood up quietly. Maxwell looked up at her, anxious, trying his best not to grab her hand.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already…”

“I am.” Morrigan glanced down at him. Uneasiness filled the Herald completely as he saw she was quite excited. “Do not be scared, Inquisitor.”

“But-”

“‘tis all I can help you with. For now.” Morrigan cut him off swiftly. “Your healer should be able to tell you more, especially about taking lyrium in your condition. However… I would think twice before believing what he says.”

The Herald bit his lip, watching as she turned away and started walking off into the courtyard. The day had only begun, and he was already buried under a mountain of new questions, fears and suspicions. But most importantly, ugly doubt started to stir within him, and everything Maxwell had just understood made him rush back into his memories. He suddenly realized how normal it had been for him to seek Solas for help; how he’d always taken it for granted when the elf had offered his hand without being asked.

When the Breach had appeared and the Herald had no idea what to do with the mark on his hand, when he had been close to being killed by his soon to be companions, it had been Solas who’d guided him out of it all safely. When Maxwell had been returning from Therinfal Redoubt, unsure if possessed or not, it had been the elf’s name that had instantly come to his mind. It had been Solas who’d begun treating the Inquisitor’s illness as soon as he’d noticed it blooming.

 _How haven’t I noticed…?_ Maxwell swallowed the lump in his throat. _He’s wormed his way in so deep there’s no place in my head he hasn’t visited. He knows my every weakness, and I’m used to having him around all the time… I never question him, I just… believe…_

The Inquisitor knew he had to stop wasting his time and start searching for the elf. No, there was no need to search: he knew exactly where Solas would be because herbal concoctions and recovery magic were still parts of Maxwell’s treatment. A treatment suggested by Solas himself, of course.

 _What is it even for?_ The Inquisitor asked himself. _What is this treatment fighting against?_

He attempted to stand up, and though it went successfully, his legs felt wobbly. Maxwell began his way towards the castle, moving his heavy body unevenly, and people that passed by kept shooting him worried glances. As the man entered the hall through the massive door, he wondered if it all was a mistake and he was about to accuse an innocent elf who’d been doing his best to help. Solas spent hours with him every day, and then he spent the rest alone, searching for better ways to heal him. Thinking about it made the Inquisitor halt. He wasn’t sure what to do.

 _Don’t hesitate. Have you forgotten how the demons didn’t attack you?_ He asked himself. _They should have tried to kill you together with the Duchess and your only friend. Think that lyrium has something to do with that?_

Maxwell blinked.

_Lyrium that I’m taking, does it only help my resistance? Or does it also help the darkness that is lurking inside me?_

It was depressing how little he knew, and there was only one way to find out what was really happening: the Inquisitor had to start questioning.

Thankfully, before going straight to Solas, he could do one more thing to make himself more willing… Or less willing – that depended. He needed to try. Maxwell took air into his lungs and opened his mouth to call-

_“Yes.”_

He released nothing but an empty sigh. As soon as the Herald looked back over his shoulder, he saw Cole standing several steps away: the spirit was leaning on a nearby table with his legs crossed. The large hat was resting on top of his head, as usual.

“You’re quick,” Maxwell said.

 _“I was watching,”_ Cole answered.

“Then you know what I’m about to ask.”

The spirit pushed away from the table and approached the Inquisitor slowly, watching him carefully from under the hat. It would have made the man nervous if he hadn’t been a mess already.

 _“Alone,”_ Cole said. Maxwell felt the life inside him freeze for a second. _“I can’t see the demon. Only you. But not entirely.”_

“That hardly makes sense…” The Inquisitor frowned. “How can there be ‘only me’ and ‘not entirely’ at the same time?”

 _“I don’t know,”_ the spirit lowered his head. _“Demons feel different. You feel different too. I don’t understand.”_

“Yeah, me neither,” Maxwell grunted. He’d thought asking Cole would help determine if Morrigan was right, but it only made things more complicated. “I’m going to ask Solas what he thinks about it, I guess,” he added.

 _“Yes,”_ was all the spirit said.

The Inquisitor turned to the door again but didn’t move – not with Cole ready to follow. It wasn’t like Maxwell didn’t want him to know, he just wasn’t ready to let anyone witness the conversation he was going to have with the elf. The man rubbed the back of his neck.

“Listen, I… I know I’ve just called you- tried to, at least, heh,” he trailed off for a moment, thoughtful. “But I would be grateful if you let me talk to him alone.”

There was no answer. Maxwell swallowed, reluctant to look back.

“I promise I’ll share everything I find out during our conversation,” he promised. “Just bear with me for a while, okay?”

Again, there was no answer. The Inquisitor waited, and when nothing happened for a long time, he finally turned back. Cole was already gone.

“Oh… good,” Maxwell muttered. He hoped the spirit had listened to him and was now somewhere far away instead of following him invisibly. Thinking that, the Inquisitor continued his way.

The walk to Solas’s place didn’t take long: the Herald only needed to pass a corridor and the big hall before the western part of the castle would start. There was a small tower there, the first floor of which Solas had taken as his working space (he also went up to the library sometimes). From there it wasn’t hard to get to the private rooms.

Solas wasn’t working yet (which was strange because he was an early riser), so Maxwell went straight to his room.  When the man came to the door he was looking for, however, he stopped, hesitating yet again.

 _Come on, don’t be scared. The worst has already happened,_ he hurried himself.

While the Inquisitor was taking his time struggling to get the door open, it suddenly opened by itself. The man jumped on his spot, startled, and his eyes shot up.

“Commander-!” He breathed out.

Cullen gasped, obviously taken aback as well, but quickly took himself under control and stepped aside. Maxwell threw a puzzled stare into the room and saw Solas sitting at his table with a steaming mug in his hands. The elf was watching him intently, no emotion present on his face.

“Good morning…” the Inquisitor greeted them both reluctantly, glancing from Solas to the Commander and back. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Cullen shook his head. “I was about to leave, Inquisitor.”

“I see…” Maxwell finally took the hint and got himself in. “What were you talking about?”

“The Elder God.” The Commander placed his bandaged hand on the hilt of his sword, and the Herald tried his best not to focus on the injury. “He appeared once again, so we have been discussing other possibilities. Solas knows more than anyone, that’s why I thought I’d ask him before the next meeting.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” The Herald asked.

“Because you had your training,” Cullen gave him a small smile. “I didn’t want to interrupt you. Which reminds me, can you visit me later? I want to talk to you about something.”

“Yes, of course...” Maxwell agreed, feeling his heart gather pace.

“Good,” the Commander nodded. “I will be at my tower, then.”

He bowed slightly and exited the room, closing the door after himself. Maxwell stood unmoving for a moment, trying to come to terms with his rapidly beating heart. Then he turned to face Solas.

“You haven’t said anything.”

The elf made a sip of what he was drinking and closed his eyes in distaste. That was probably herbal tea; the Inquisitor remembered that he wasn’t really fond of it. Why Solas was drinking it then, he had no idea.

_I should be thinking about other things._

“I suspect you have questions,” Solas said, taking another sip.

 _Oh. That’s right…_ Maxwell scratched the back of his neck. _I wanted to ask him so many things, but the Commander distracted me…_

“Can I sit?” He asked.

Solas nodded at a chair that was standing next to the exit. The Herald took his nod as a yes and moved the chair closer to the elf’s table. He dropped on it as soon as he was done and took a deep breath before beginning. This was going to be one unpleasant conversation.

“I…” Maxwell trailed off, unsure how he wanted to start this. “I want to make sure of something.”

“Go on.”

“Yeah…” The Herald leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, clasping his fingers together. Looking at the elf was somehow difficult, and he fidgeted, nervous. “I wanted to ask if you… are completely honest with me.”

Silence was his first answer. Judging by the sound that followed, Solas placed his mug back on the table.

“You think I am a liar?” Came the second answer, and Maxwell swallowed. He’d been afraid to hear that.

“N-no, I-” He stuttered and glanced up only to see Solas watching him. Now the Herald had problems looking away. “I know how much you’ve done for me, and I believe you, I just… I had a talk with Morrigan earlier. She made it clear that I’ve merged with the Envy demon… so I was wondering why you never told me. Assuming she is right, of course...”

There was silence again. The Inquisitor felt horribly stupid.

“I see.” The elf sighed. “She is mistaken.”

“What-?” Maxwell breathed out.

“We have traveled through your nightmares many times, Inquisitor. The demon has not made a single appearance,” Solas said. “There is no one to argue with, and it does seem like a sign of merging… However, merging does not bring ill effects that you have, and that makes me doubt it ever happened. Instead, I think that the demon is still present, but is too weak to do anything to you.”

Maxwell straightened up on the chair. “What do you mean it is too weak? Haven’t we merged?”

Solas took the mug in his hands again and brought it up to his mouth. “You would have changed if a real merging took place.” He made a sip. “Clearly, that has not happened yet… And it leads me to a rather unpleasant assumption.”

“What is it?” The Herald asked.

“During the battle at Haven Corypheus took your head into his hands,” the elf said thoughtfully, still holding the mug. “By the time he released you, the demon had already fallen silent, and we know that no merging took place-”

“Yes, and…?”

The elf gave him a slightly irritated look that all but screamed ‘do not interrupt me, ever.’ Maxwell gulped, squeezing the seat in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” He lowered his head.

“As I was saying,” Solas continued, “I am inclined to believe that Corypheus did not only break your resistance, but he also casted something on the demon you were carrying. The Elder God’s magic was destructive to it and made it crippled. Incapable of functioning as it should. ”

He finished with the tea and put the mug back on the table again. Then the elf got up and went to the shelf that held several bundles of herbs and a dozen of small bottles – Maxwell grasped what he was doing when Solas started to pick the ingredients for his medicine. It was time for that already, he hadn’t noticed.

“Such turn of events can explain everything you are struggling with,” the elf came back with a second mug in his one hand and small leaves in the other. He sat down and began preparing the medicine. “Compare it to a man, if that will help you understand. A healthy man walks and talks, he has his needs. He is active because of that, and other people notice him.”

The Inquisitor nodded, watching the elf’s hands as they tore and twisted the leaves.

“Now imagine a man who still has needs, but he is paralyzed and lying among rubbish in the darkest corner of the town. A place that no one ever visits.” Solas opened a bottle and added something to the Herald’s medicine.

“Oh…” Maxwell trailed off. “That’s how it is…?”

“Yes. The demon is still there, so deep and hidden that no one can see it. Not me. Not even you,” Solas finally added water and took the mug into his hands. He closed his eyes, and a few seconds later the water was already boiling. “Perhaps, only traces of its former existence.”

He put the mug close to the Inquisitor and looked up at him.

“Unfortunately, that does not mean you are safe, as you have already noticed. The demon is still a source of dark power, and while it cannot take over you or act as it should, it is still the cause of your suffering. Furthermore, it is open in front of you, Inquisitor, and you may address to it without knowing. Anger and despair are the strongest emotions the demon has now.”

“Of course they are…” Was all the Herald could answer. All his bursts of anger were suddenly so easy to explain… His breakdown, too. And he had been feeding from the demon all this time without realizing it.

“I could not see the nature of your illness,” Solas admitted. His voice sounded sad though he looked like was trying to hide it. “Even with the signs you were showing it was difficult to bring the pieces together. You were only beginning to live with a parasite inside you, as open as it was, and I could not do much about that because I did not know what we were fighting against.”

Maxwell squeezed the mug. _Don’t be like that,_ he wanted to say, but his tongue just wouldn’t listen. He was feeling like a complete idiot, an ungrateful fool who’d chosen to ignore everything that had happened just to believe a woman he’d only known for-

“Remember when the nightmare separated us?” The elf asked. The Inquisitor nodded reluctantly: that one was still crystal clear in his memory. “You were so weak I thought you would wake up a different man. That was when I started to suspect that the ill effects were more than just a result of the Elder God’s magic; there had to be an active source somewhere inside you.”

Solas sighed and looked at his hands that were resting on his knees. Maxwell sat on the edge of his seat, desperate for him to continue.

“I suggested taking lyrium, hoping it would help whatever resistance was left in you,” the elf said. “And I have been trying to get to the source through your nightmares ever since.”

“So… when did you realize it was a demon?” the Inquisitor asked.

“When your breakdown took place, both me and Cole saw a glimpse of it,” Solas answered. “It was no less than a blur hidden in the darkness you were fighting against. We almost lost you, but lyrium helped.”

“Lyrium, yes,” Maxwell nodded. “It turned out to be more than helpful, actually. Back in the Winter Palace I found out I have a new power.”

“I know,” Solas said. “I sensed the presence of demons and knew when exactly you opened the rift. When the demons became idle, I knew it had something to do with you.”

The elf looked up at the Herald, and they stared at each other for a while.

“You wanted power,” Solas said. “Like emotions, it is, too, obtainable from the demon. Other demons recognize you as one of their kind.”

“Like… I’m a demon?”

“They think so. I would be careful with that, Inquisitor. We do not know the depths of that power or how it works. It may become the downfall of you.” The elf finished with his warning and threw a glance at the mug Maxwell was still holding. “Finish your medicine. It is getting cold.”

“Right. Sorry,” the Herald muttered.

He drank in silence while Solas returned to the shelf to put the ingredients back. The elf didn’t try to continue their line of the conversation, and Maxwell busied himself with thinking everything over. He’d have to be even more careful from now on. If the Herald got it correctly, the demon itself was harmless, but if he turned to it too much, he’d sooner or later become corrupted. He and Solas would have to continue searching for the source together.

It wasn’t bad. They finally had progress.

When Maxwell was finished with the medicine, he thanked the elf and left him to his work. The Inquisitor had taken a lot of his time already; it would be rude to take more. Besides, there was another conversation that he needed to have.

 _The Commander is probably tired waiting_.

Cullen had promised to be in the tower, and thankfully, walking there didn’t take too long: the battlements were close the place where Solas worked. As soon as Maxwell got up, he saw the tower he needed. An agent walked out of the door with a pile of papers and greeted the Inquisitor when they were passing each other by.

 _Cullen’s in there, all right,_ Maxwell thought. He came to the door and opened it without knocking.

The Commander was standing next to the window with a lyrium box in his hands. He turned to the Herald as soon as he heard the man enter, and a small smile appeared on his face. Maxwell felt lighter… but not for long. He could not allow himself to be distracted.

“Good morning again,” he said, coming closer. “I know you wanted to talk, but it looks like I need to discuss something with you as well. You might want to sit down.”

Cullen’s smile faltered.

“I’m listening,” he said.

***

When Maxwell finished talking about the demon, Cullen all but ordered him to stay close for the rest of the day. The Inquisitor was glad to obey. They went through the Commander’s duties together, held the meeting with the other advisors and then went to the training grounds where templars and all the recruits were training. There Maxwell was able to forget about his problems.

Cullen never started the conversation he’d promised. When he and the Herald were parting their ways late in the evening and Maxwell asked about it for the third time already, the Commander only stepped closer and pressed his lips to the man’s temple.

“I don’t regret anything,” Cullen said softly and yet confidently. “Just wanted you to know. Good night, Inquisitor.”

Maxwell was left speechless and watched the Commander walk away with his mouth slightly open in shock. By the time Cullen disappeared through the door on the other side of the corridor, the Inquisitor’s brain was a mess of warm feelings. Like in a dream, he returned to his chamber and dropped on the bed without even taking off his boots. He didn’t notice Hawke lying on the other side, sound asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Please, join me and blame the Trespasser dlc for this delay. It’s all Solas’s fault. Not mine, I swear.
> 
> P.S.: Have you seen the summary yet? I have no idea what story it belongs to XDD (don’t want to change it, though. It reminds me of what I originally intended for the plot).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, screw it, blame me for the delay. Blame me! I'm guilty!  
> Also enjoy <33

“Inquisitor.”

Maxwell stirred but did nothing more. Some time passed.

“Inquisitor,” the voice repeated gently.

“Mmh…” Maxwell sighed quietly and shifted to his side, bringing his knees up to his chest. Everything fell silent for a while, but then the voice spoke again, closer to his ear.

“Inquisitor… wake up. My hand is getting numb.”

“What…?” The man cracked his eyes open, trying to understand who was talking to him. In his dream he’d been looking around to find the source, but his attempts proved to be fruitless.

Red light was coming through the windows, which meant Maxwell was having visions again. He simply ignored it, since it was already an inalienable part of all his mornings (and his life in general). There were no voices anymore - one that had been calling out to him had gone away with the dream - and the Herald quickly decided to return to sleep. As he was closing his eyelids, however, his hand came upon warm fingers – so very strange, because the Herald’s other one was resting under his shoulder-

_Wait. What the…_

Maxwell’s eyes shot open, and he turned to his back in one rapid movement. Stunned, the Inquisitor watched as the red light slid across Hawke’s messy hair and sharp cheekbones. The Champion beamed.

 “Good morning!”

The yell that came from Maxwell’s chamber was so loud they must have heard it in Antiva. The man bolted upright, his hand missing the edge of the bed and almost sending him to the floor. Thankfully, Hawke grabbed his forearm in time.

“Careful,” the Champion said, still smiling.

Tumbling off the bed was at the very bottom of the Inquisitor’s worries list, though: all prize places were taken by shock born from waking up with someone else. He tried to put on a straight face and failed miserably if Hawke’s amused expression was anything to go by.

“What are you doing here?” Maxwell breathed out.

“I came yesterday to talk about the Wardens,” the Champion answered cheerfully, leaning back with his hands pressed against the mattress. The man’s black shirt came up his stomach, and the Herald noticed a white stripe of bandages. “But you were away for so long that I ended up dozing off. And here I am now.”

“Uh…” Maxwell trailed off, his attention lingering amidst the events in the small room back in Orlais. “There’s a couch for such purposes.”

Hawke bit his lip, averting his eyes for the first time, and his hand went up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said kind of sheepishly, “I _did_ fall asleep on the couch…”

“…oh.” Maxwell frowned. He hadn’t known that the Champion had sleepwalking problems.

Meanwhile, Hawke got off the bed and went towards the balcony; possibly to take a view at the busy morning life below. He stopped mid-way and stretched, bathing in sunlight, and with all the black clothes he was wearing it was a miracle both he and his bandages weren’t dripping wet with sweat. But on the other hand, black suited him just fine, especially coming with the tight clothes the Champion had always on. And red that Maxwell was able to see only added to that.

“Have you ever tried adding red to your clothes?” The Herald asked after a moment. “It would look good on you.”

Hawke turned back to glance at him with a slightly surprised expression.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Maxwell nodded.

There was a short pause as the Champion looked up thoughtfully at the ceiling, hands on his hips. He then allowed them to drop to his sides and smiled.

“No harm in trying, I guess,” Hawke said light-heartedly and moved on towards the non-existent door to the outside. He soon disappeared behind the curtain, leaving the Herald to himself.

Maxwell rested in his bed for a good couple of minutes, thinking about the Champion and his wounds, the way he was hurt but continued smiling as if nothing had happened. It was the first time the Inquisitor met someone like this, someone who was able to hide his pain so well. Both he and the Commander could cover their real emotions (though Maxwell wasn’t that sure about himself anymore), but Hawke laughed and smiled and was all sun and light. How one could act in such a way was a puzzle the Herald couldn’t yet solve.

He wondered if Hawke could teach him.

 _With all the optimism he has he may as well be able to heal the demon into eternal happiness,_ an assumption came up.

“Oh!” The Champion’s voice rose from the balcony. “There’s a bird out here. I think it’s got a letter for you.”

“Hold on, I’ll be out in a moment,” Maxwell shouted back and shifted to the edge of the bed. He was still fully dressed and wearing his boots, and that meant he was in a strong need of changing his clothes because everything was wrinkled beyond simple fixing. As the Herald was moving to the wardrobe, someone knocked on his door shyly, and he had to get it first instead.

As soon as Maxwell opened it, he saw a young servant girl standing on the other side. She fidgeted, slightly embarrassed.

“Is something wrong?” The man asked.

“Please accept my apologies for bothering you so early, Inquisitor.” She bowed. “I happened to be near you chamber and heard you…”She trailed off for a second, and from the way her lips moved, she must have bitten her tongue. “Heard some noise and came to check if you needed anything. Inquisitor.”

“Ah…” His yell had attracted a bit of attention after all. “No, I’m fine. I… had a nightmare.”

”Oh, I’m so very sorry,” the servant bowed again. “I will stop taking your time now. Please call me if you need something, my lord.”

Maxwell hummed. An idea came fast enough.

“Actually, there is something you can do,” he said, returning his attention to the girl. “I don’t think I’m going back to sleep any time soon, so I’d really appreciate it if you brought me some fresh water.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” It was the third time the servant bowed, and then she went to get what she’d been told to. Maxwell left the door slightly open for her and returned to the wardrobe; there were several sets of clothing waiting for him plus one he was using for his physical exercises. He picked the latter.

Hawke returned when he was almost done dressing. Beth wasn’t with him, and Maxwell wondered why she still hadn’t flown inside the chamber like she’d always done if he hadn’t come out to the balcony to greet her. The next thing he noticed was a small cut on the Champion’s thumb. Hawk was keeping it pressed to his mouth, licking off drops of blood.

“Did she bite you?” The Herald asked, scowling. It was a very rare thing for Beth to harm people, but then again, Hawke wasn’t the luckiest man in Thedas.

“The bird?”

“Yeah.”

The Champion made a sad face. “Animals aren’t very fond of me,” he said. “I’ve never even had a pet, they all just… hiss and bark and run away. Attack me if I come closer than allowed.”

“I see…” Maxwell stood up. The door opened, and the servant girl walked in with a big bowl of water. Hawke hurried to help her, and it didn’t go unnoticed how she stared at him, bewildered, obviously not expecting any help or to see him here at all. Despite that, she gathered herself quickly enough, bowed and hurried out. The Champion was left alone, standing with the bowl safe in his hands.

Maxwell couldn’t get one thing. Ever since he’d met Hawke, the man had shown how kind-hearted and bright he was. He’d also won the Inquisitor’s trust, Maxwell had to admit it. Getting to the core of the Winter Palace had been no easy task – and _his_ task, originally – but Hawke had taken it without raising any claims or questions and not even knowing that Corypheus had been involved. In other words, he was a good man.

And if so, why didn’t animals like him? When Maxwell had been small, Edolie had used to tell him that animals had a knack for taking good people apart from bad. That is why their dog hadn’t liked their cook, and their birds had always fallen silent when his father had been nearby. If he followed that logic, that would mean there was something wrong with Hawke…?

“We should talk about the Wardens,” the Champion said, pulling Maxwell out of his thoughts. “Want to do that while you’re training? I can take a run in the courtyard with you. Oh, and breakfast too,” he grinned. “I haven’t eaten for ages.”

“Ah? Uh… Yeah, of course,” the Inquisitor agreed absently.

 _Should I ask him about it?_ He wondered internally. Somehow he doubted Hawke would open up that easily.

They shared the water to wash the remains of sleep from their faces, and by the time they were done, Beth still hadn’t appeared. That was seriously starting to get strange, and the Herald stood up to call her.

“Come on, girl, I’m waiting for you,” he said loudly. In front of him, Hawke smiled.

A short caw from outside was his response, and Maxwell could swear he’d never heard Beth sound so unwilling. The bird herself appeared soon after and sat on the table, locking her small black beads on her owner’s head. She’d always flown straight to him before.

“What’s wrong?” Maxwell asked, approaching the table. As soon as he got close, Beth jumped back and farther from him, cawing a few times. The man could swear she looked angry. “Come on, girl, it’s me…”

He tried to reach out to the bird only to have her fly all the way to the opposite side of the room. Beth landed on top of the couch, right beside Hawke. The Champion hummed.

“Didn’t know you have problems with animals too,” he said.

“I don’t.” The Inquisitor folded his hands across his chest. “I have no idea why she’s behaving like this.”

 _But the demon may have something to do with it,_ he thought. _Didn’t Solas tell me it’s difficult to pick out, though?_

“I need that letter of yours, Beth,” he said aloud. “We may play tag later if you want, but now please do what you have to do.”

The bird cawed again reluctantly and finally obeyed.

“And here I was so happy it picked me over you,” Hawke muttered.

Maxwell waited until Beth settled on the table and then tried to take the letter of her leg. It didn’t go well at first because the bird showed herdispleasure with all her little being, almost biting the Herald once. That didn’t last long, thankfully, as she soon seemed to grasp that her behavior was slowing things down.

“Here, wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Maxwell said as soon as the letter was free. He unfolded it and spared a glance at Beth. “You can go have some food, I left the plate on the windowsill.”

She cawed and flew off. Well, that had been unpleasant.

“What’s in there?” Hawke asked from the couch. The Inquisitor let himself read the contents before answering.

“It’s from my brother,” he said a short while after. “Two of them, actually. They’re not in Skyhold now, so we write each other small letters from time to time.”

“Why aren’t they here?”

“They have things they need to take care of first.” Maxwell folded the letter again and went around the table to put it into a box he had solely for this purpose. “Besides, I can handle this on my own. You ready to go?”

“Been ready for a while,” the Champion answered with a grin. “Want to race? I’ll pay for your breakfast if you win.”

“I don’t pay for my breakfasts,” Maxwell muttered. But despite acting unimpressed, he was up for a little challenge.

***

Another mystery was Hawke’s ability to run fast while having numerous not-so-healed wounds all over his body. He was swift and flexible, and most of the obstacles they’d come into were either jumped or climbed over with impressive speed (sometimes the Champion was dangerously close to falling and breaking something, yet he managed to stay in one piece so far despite having things break right under his feet). Hawke rarely followed Maxwell when the Herald chose to pass another cart with boxes without touching it.

They passed Varric and Sera at some point: the dwarf was lingering outside the tavern, talking to the elf girl that was sticking out of a window on the second floor and giggling. She waved to the two men as soon as they came into her view, and Varric noticed them as well. Contrary to Sera’s cheerful mood, the dwarf was worried, and Maxwell could understand why.

“I’ll be fine!” Hawke promised loudly, beaming. Ironically, at this very moment his foot came upon a big stone, and he almost went flying into the dirt. The man managed to stay upright just barely.

“Watch him, Inquisitor,” Varric asked Maxwell in a tired voice. “Maker knows there hasn’t been a time without him hurting himself in any way.”

“Of course,” Maxwell promised, his breath erratic from running, and they continued with their race. Past the garden, past the stables, and then he and Hawke turned around the corner and there were the training grounds, already full of templars and recruits. The Commander was also present, watching over everything he could catch. He quickly noticed the two running men, and the Herald knew Cullen had been expecting him because that’s how it had always been. There was something new to it today, though: the Commander’s eyes were harder and lingered on Maxwell’s longer than usual, and he wasn’t smiling. Why wasn’t he s-

“Watch out!” Hawke shouted, suddenly grabbing the Inquisitor’s wrist. Maxwell started; while he’d been busy staring at his friend, he’d almost run flat into a worker holding what seemed like a very heavy tower of stone blocks.

“Maker…” He breathed out, hand still captured in the Champion’s grasp. “Thanks, I was spacing out and haven’t noticed…”

“All good,” Hawke assured him with a short laugh and let go. “But you’re making it easy for me here. Hurry up.”

_You asked for it._

***

Despite having had complete confidence in his strength, the Herald of Andraste ended up losing. And it was quite a miserable loss: Hawke came first to their destination point at the tavern’s entrance and _had to wait_. How an injured man could do such a thing was beyond Maxwell’s understanding.

“Oh there you are,” he chuckled when the Inquisitor came to a messy stop beside him. “I thought you got lost.”

Maxwell growled, his body bent in two. It was hard to breathe.

“Sorry I’m not… as quick as you are…” He forced out. “I will… improve…”

“Yeah, my advice would be to start looking where you’re running,” Hawke pointed out, making his breath hitch. “It’s never good to move blindly. You will only get hurt.”

 _Says the unluckiest person in Thedas,_ the Herald almost said, straightening up. Strangely enough, he wasn’t feeling irritated.

“Come on, we need some food,” the Champion added and stepped towards the door.

The tavern was half empty and mostly quiet, save for the bard who was playing a song Maxwell hadn’t heard before. Must have been her new piece, he’d have to ask her about it later. The melody clung to his ears and through them traveled directly into his memory.

Hawke picked a table in the very corner of the building and dropped himself on a chair near the wall, all grace of an elephant in his movement. Letting out a pathetic creak, the chair gave out under his weight, and with a surprised yelp the man crashed to the floor. Maxwell pressed his palm to his forehead.

_This is impossible. Simply impossible._

He helped Hawke up, and they settled on the opposite sides of the table, waiting for the food to arrive. As soon as the Champion made sure no one was nearby, he started filling Maxwell with details concerning the missing Wardens. Apparently, he had a man hiding in Crestwood caves, a man who belonged to the Warden ranks. Like Blackwall, he wasn’t yet lost.

“Fif name ‘f Alifai,” Hawke said through the bread he was eating, and even that somehow looked attractive. The man seemed to get the opposite idea though and brought a mug to his lips, making a few gulps before continuing. “Sorry. His name is Alistair, I mean. We’ve been working together for a while, and I lost him once. Found out where he’s hiding a couple of days ago.”

Well, wasn’t that a loud name.

“Is it the Alistair I’m thinking about?” Maxwell asked.

“Only one Grey Warden with such a name,” The Champion shrugged. “He sent me a message asking to visit him. I’m planning to head out this evening. He’s probably found something important.”

“I’m going with you, then-” the Herald started.

“No, you aren’t,” Hawke cut him off, and when Maxwell was about to protest, he went on, “I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself. You have just returned from the Winter Palace, and we both know it was an exhausting experience.”

“Yeah, and you took most of it!” Maxwell objected. “It’s you who’s wearing all these bandages under your clothes, not me!”

The Champion bit his lip, throwing a glance at his plate. “Kind of hoped you wouldn’t notice…” He said quietly and then looked back up. “Maybe I am injured, but it’s an external thing. I’m talking about internal.”

“What…?”

Maxwell watched him, not exactly getting it. There was no way Hawke could know about the demon, was there?

“The Fade stuff? I’m kind of sensitive to it,” the man said, smiling. “Besides, it’s written on your face. You have some big old disaster getting to you, and judging by everyone’s “ignorance” no one knows about that.”

“Well… I…” The Inquisitor trailed off. That was some good perception; he’d thought he was good at wearing fake faces.

“See? I’m right.” Hawke’s smile turned into a grin. It didn’t live long, though. “You should take your time and deal with that problem first. No need to throw yourself into some easy task when I can easily do it myself.”

He finished talking and returned to his food. Watching the Champion, Maxwell wondered why people were trying their best to keep him away from difficult missions. First the Winter Palace, now this... He wasn’t very stable, of course, but he _was_ becoming stronger. He could go and stand among demons and not make them all furious! Still, people kept hinting he wasn’t good enough, and that was… yes, now he was starting to feel irritated.

How was he supposed to get stronger if they kept pinning him down?

“Are you sure you can’t take me with y-” Maxwell was about to ask Hawke again but fell silent abruptly. There was a small piece of- _something_ lying on top of the Champion’s hand. One of his visions; he must’ve allowed them to reappear as soon as he started getting angry. Maxwell wasn’t that good at controlling them... The weirdest thing about it all, however, was that Hawke was staring directly at it.

_He… can see it…?_

Maxwell swallowed, glancing between the man’s hand and his face. Many more “somethings” were surrounding them now, but the Champion kept watching the one that appeared on his hand.

“You know…” Hawke started, and the Inquisitor felt disturbingly anxious.

“Hawke-” He started, not really sure what he could say.

“I think there’s nothing to be worried about,” the man continued, his eyes coming to meet the other’s. “Morrigan gave me that job in the Winter Palace because you were recovering, and now I’m not letting you go with me for the same reason.”

Maxwell blinked.

“Huh…?”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s always going to be like this. I mean, you still have an Elder God to defeat. No one else can do it,” the Champion explained. He brought his hands up and pressed his palms to his cheeks, making the “something” fall off. The Herald stared at him, perplexed.

“What…?” He breathed out.

“You’ll get your share of adventures, Inquisitor,” Hawke finished cheerfully. “So don’t feel down, alright?”

“I…”

 _Maker. He doesn’t see anything…_ Maxwell understood. What had just happened must have been accidental, no matter how promising it may have looked. The Herald had been shocked; no one had ever seen any of his visions, not even Solas.

For a second he’d thought-

“Yeah,” Maxwell said, forcing on a smile of his own. “I get it. Thank you, Hawke.”

The Champion frowned and said nothing in return.

***

Two weeks passed. Hawke had disappeared without saying goodbye (though he hadn’t exactly promised to give any), and the advisors kept themselves busy with endless needs of the Inquisition. As a result, the Herald found himself growing bored pretty quickly: with the absence of mysteries and hardships his days melted into a monotonous blur that mostly consisted of sleeping, eating and training. Which had been a satisfactory way of living for the first couple of days but after that grew impossibly irritating.

Seeing Maxwell’s uneasiness, the Commander offered him to aid the templars in the training grounds, and the Herald found himself getting quite attached to this task. It allowed him to dance with his great sword on a daily basis, fulfilling one of his strongest needs. Every evening Maxwell returned to his chamber feeling exhausted but happy, and happiness was the best remedy for whatever state he was currently in.

Yet there was something that still pulled him down.

The Herald’s relationship with Cullen hadn’t changed. Despite seeing each other regularly, neither of them attempted to discuss the puzzling state they were in. It may have been the mutual lack of experience in such bonds (the Commander had mentioned having a one-sided feeling once, and Maxwell hadn’t loved at all), but this reason felt weak. The Inquisitor was still asking himself if he truly believed there had been something warm in the kiss they’d shared. Sadly, asking Cullen directly was a hard thing to do, so instead of doing that Maxwell tried to test the ground with small steps, trying new things and observing the Commander’s reaction.

The first thing Maxwell stumbled upon was Cullen’s nervousness that appeared whenever they were left alone and without anything to busy themselves with. It wasn’t really hard to pick a topic and keep a light conversation going if the Inquisitor wanted (if everything else failed, there was always their joined passion towards fighting and sword mastery), but every discussion had a tendency to end, and when that happened, things became awkward pretty fast. Thankfully, Cullen never tried to avoid him, though he was probably expecting Maxwell to raise the subject every now and then.

The second thing Maxwell learned was the Commander’s reluctance to touch him the way he was expecting to be touched (‘wanted’ was a rather strong word). Cullen wasn’t fond of physical contact – that much had been clear long before their relationship started, but it still was a major factor that made Maxwell think something was amiss. To make sure he wasn’t imagining things, the Herald presented several opportunities with no one else nearby, standing close to the man and waiting. Cullen missed all of them.

Lastly, there was the third thing - a point equally strong. There was a time when Maxwell gathered all his will and tried avoiding the Commander himself, wondering if the man would come looking for him. And Cullen did come, but not only that- it was a rare moment where he actually touched the Inquisitor in a right way, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing it, keeping them close. Maxwell recognized this as a sign of worry, yet his heart jumped up and kept kicking, making him a wordless mess. Whatever was happening, he was diving in deep, and the Commander was diving together with him.

 _Someday,_ he thought, _I’ll find courage to ask him._

***

In the beginning of the third week Maxwell got a message from Hawke. The words were written on a half torn piece of paper and marred with blood, small and almost unreadable. They were strange, to say the least.

 _Thank the Maker I’m not a Warden,_ the piece of paper read. _Hope you’re having fun._

And that was all. The Inquisitor had never received such messages, not even from his brothers. Hawke made it appear like they were great friends and had known each other for at least a dozen centuries… Looking up at the ceiling of his chamber, Maxwell wondered how that made him feel, and the answer didn’t take long to come.

_I wouldn’t mind having him for a friend._

The Herald smiled as a tiny yet warm feeling settled in his heart.

After dedicating a few good minutes to lying motionlessly on his bed, Maxwell folded the paper carefully, stood up and went towards the table where he would put it into the special box. Speaking of which, he had to get the other box too - the one that contained lyrium. It wouldn’t be smart to miss his ‘medicine’, and Maxwell didn’t want to, anyway.

As he was settling on the chair and taking out the usual amount, someone knocked.

“It’s open, come in,” the Inquisitor offered loudly.

The door opened, and everything went quiet for a moment. Maxwell downed his lyrium and spared a glance at the guest, wondering why they hadn’t started talking yet-

“Oh,” he let out, surprised. “Good morning. I thought you were already down in the courtyard.”

The Commander closed the door and slowly approached the table, his eyes locked on the lyrium box. The Inquisitor waited patiently for him to start talking; Cullen didn’t normally visit him this early in the morning. Something had to have happened.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” the man said, not really meeting Maxwell’s face. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“I’m listening,” the Herald nudged him.

At first he’d thought Cullen would start talking about lyrium: the Commander was still looking at the box without taking a break, and it was kind of upsetting. However, a few moments later such dedication made Maxwell wonder if the man had simply picked the object to be a safe spot to focus on. What on Thedas was happening?

“Cullen?” He called carefully. “Would you mind looking at me?”

The Commander flinched, jerking his head up sharply and staring at Maxwell as if he’d already forgotten what all of this was about. Then he coughed and straightened up, and his hands went behind his back - a habit that came up whenever he was addressing his recruits; meant he was trying to focus. At least that’s what Maxwell believed.

“Sorry, this is kind of sudden for me,” Cullen said.

“What’s bothering you?” Maxwell asked, wondering absently if he needed to bring a chair for his friend. “Is it lyrium? Something wrong with our mission? Recruits?”

“…no, nothing like that,” Cullen said after a few seconds and looked away again, definitely locking on another safe spot somewhere beside the Herald. This was getting way too uncomfortable for both of them. “Well, lyrium _is_ bothering me… but that’s one thing. There are other things that… _oh,_ _Maker._ ”

The man let out a helpless, heavy sigh, and Maxwell scowled, trying to guess what he was trying to get to. If something had been wrong with the Inquisition, Cullen wouldn’t have behaved like this, he’d be bold about it. All this fidgeting could only mean the nature of his insecurities lay in the private part of his life-

“It’s about _us_ , isn’t it,” Maxwell made an assumption, and judging by how Cullen winced, it was a good guess. The day was off with a surprising start. Letting out a breath, the Inquisitor stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Go?” The Commander slowly repeated. His face fell. “L-listen, it’s important-”

“To the balcony,” Maxwell interrupted him. “If I spend any more time sitting here with my head up at this angle, my neck will start to complain. Besides, we need fresh air.”

“…ah,” Cullen breathed out almost inaudibly. “Of course.”

They stepped outside onto the balcony that looked upon giant snowy peaks of nearby mountains, and Maxwell shifted from one leg to another, waiting for the cold wind to strike. It chose to be gentle today, though, and so did the sun that peered at them from the horizon line.

The Commander sneezed.

“Is it too chilly out here?” The Herald asked, glancing at him.

“No, it’s good,” Cullen answered, rubbing his nose. “And the view is so peaceful. I understand now why they chose to give this chamber to you.”

Maxwell frowned slightly, returning his eyes to the horizon.

“I thought you took part in choosing,” he said.

“Well- no, you’ve seen where I live,” the man chuckled, lowering himself and placing his hands on top of the railings. “I don’t have a good taste.”

The Inquisitor didn’t answer that; he liked the Commander’s room, actually. It did have a rather huge gap in the ceiling but was still quite appealing (despite that, the idea of sleeping with a hole nearby wasn’t overwhelmingly pretty).

The two men stood there for a while, watching the mountains and the thick mist below. As soon as small talk was over, Cullen started to hesitate, and Maxwell could do nothing but wait. It was hard for him as well; several minutes ago all he’d been concerned with was taking lyrium and getting to the training grounds – the usual routine. And now here he was, waiting for the Commander to take a turn that would undoubtedly be thorny and rough.

Relationships were so troublesome.

“Have you ever wondered why I kissed you?” Cullen asked after a while, his voice stiff, and Maxwell, who’d been thinking about the hardships of love, got so taken aback he froze.

 _It’s **that** talk, _he realized. _The one he wanted to have two weeks ago._

“I… yes,” he admitted, suddenly feeling insecure. “I hadn’t expected you to do it. Not there. Not anywhere, to be honest...”

“Mm.” The Commander nodded. “Did you come to a conclusion?”

 _Quit putting all the weight on my shoulders,_ Maxwell cringed silently.

“You either wanted me to get distracted from my goal or saw how hot I looked and decided to have me all for yourself,” he said aloud. The Herald’s hand went up to rub the back of his neck: his nervousness was getting out of control. “Which one is it?”

Cullen didn’t hurry to take his share of weight, and no emotion was written on his face, contrary to how worried it had been not so long ago. Had he finally made up his mind and was now telling Maxwell about it? Or rather making him find out on his own…

“I told you I don’t regret anything,” the Commander said. His stare was firm and collected, and there was no way he hadn’t decided. “Doesn’t it tell you anything?”

“Well…” Maxwell trailed off. Back then it _had_ seemed like he was talking about taking the new step. “I guess the second one is kind of closer, then. Even if I do suspect you needed to take my mind off the demons.”

Cullen nodded again, straightened up a little and let himself return to enjoying the view. The Herald watched him, not exactly sure if their conversation was over or if he was supposed to do something now that the Commander pushed him in the right direction.

“I…” He started only to trail off again. What was he supposed to say? He had no idea.

“So many days have passed,” Cullen muttered tiredly as if he hadn’t heard the Inquisitor’s attempt at talking. Maxwell was grateful for that, he was cornered enough. “I’ve been… hopeful… at first.”

“Hopeful?” The Inquisitor repeated, puzzled.

“I was the one who started it,” the man continued quietly. “I made the first step. And the second one.”

 _He must be talking about the evening when I wanted this talk to happen,_ Maxwell guessed. _Now that I’m thinking about it-_

“It’s natural I wanted to see you making steps towards me,” Cullen finished, locking his fingers together.

Silence dawned upon the two men.

 _What…?_ The Herald blinked.

“Being together like that… I thought you liked it,” the Commander said. “But you haven’t tried touching me ever since, not even when you approached me. You just always… lingered there without doing anything. It made me frustrated.”

_Oh, Maker. He got it all wrong._

“Wait, it’s not how I saw it…” Maxwell tried to interrupt him. Cullen shook his head.

“You know I’ve never been with anyone,” he said. “To me it looked like you didn’t want to do anything with me.”

“I do!” The Herald blurted out, and they both flinched. The burst of confidence he’d shown was as sudden for him as it was for the Commander. “I mean… uh… I do. Want to do things with you. And to tell the truth, I’ve been bothered by the same thing…”

“What?” Cullen looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“Yeah…” Maxwell scratched his cheek, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I thought it was you who didn’t want to…”

“Maker’s breath, no,” the Commander groaned. “Couldn’t you come talk to me about that?”

“Says the man who took two weeks to come himself,” the Inquisitor rolled his eyes.

A moment passed, and they chuckled. The air around the two men changed quickly, becoming less heavy in mere seconds. Cullen straightened up completely and turned, pressing his back to the railings. Maxwell watched the sunrays slide against the lines of the man’s body, and he had to admit the Commander looked inviting.

There was no reason to keep away now, was there?

So he did what seemed to be natural, stepping closer and pressing his palms to Cullen’s armored chest. It was a shame the man was wearing steel, a closer touch would feel so much better… but Maxwell supposed he could do without it this once. As he got closer, the Commander placed both hands on his waist, and it was awkward and pleasant at the same time and blew the Herald’s mind away completely.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Maxwell breathed out and leaned in.

The kiss was like nothing he’d ever experienced. There was no force and no uncertainties hidden in it, only trust and love and friendship. Neither of them hurried because they had all the time in the world, and if Corypheus chose to appear on the balcony at this very moment, Maxwell was pretty sure he’d just crush him without looking, so much force and life was flowing through him.

Cullen smiled when they pulled apart, and the Herald couldn’t help leaning in again for a quick peck. His hands were resting on the man’s shoulders now, pressing the fur flat against his neck and armor.

“And the demon turns out to be right,” Maxwell murmured. “Who would’ve thought…”

The Commander hummed and shifted slightly. “Yes. I didn’t expect to have any of this… Remember the time when we first met? If someone told me we’d be like this, I wouldn’t believe.”

“Well, that part is kind of fuzzy now,” the Inquisitor laughed. “Been a long time, huh?”

It was then when Cullen suddenly went stiff and tense against him.

“What did you just say?” The man asked.

Confused, Maxwell stepped back, his hands unmoving. “Uh… that it’s been a long time?”

“No. before that.”

“Before that… I said the meeting part is not so clear anymore?” He scowled. Where had the good mood disappeared? “Come on, we’ve been through a lot of things, it’s no big deal... right?”

“Remember when we fought in the training grounds for the first time?” Cullen pushed. “I took you on a break, and… do you remember what we ate? What we were talking about or where we were resting?”

The Herald swallowed, searching for the correct answer in his memories. Truth was, he couldn’t remember anything from that time, only fragments: sour apples, red color and some of the noises. Nothing beyond that. So he kept quiet, head down and fingers clenched into fists.

“…no,” he said hesitantly.

Next thing Maxwell knew, the Commander was grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into the chamber.

“Where are we going-?” The Herald asked.

“Follow,” Cullen grunted in response.

They left the chamber, proceeded through the long corridor that was still going through reconstruction and got out into the busy giant hall. Somewhere at that time Maxwell got an idea of where they might be heading, and his guess proved to be right when the two men stepped towards the western section of the castle. Solas’s workplace it was.

They found the elf sitting at his table and reading, but it didn’t take long to attract his attention. Solas looked up from the papers, his eyes lingering on the joined hands of the men who’d just crashed into his space, and scowled. He didn’t say anything, but his expression suggested he was waiting for an explanation.

Cullen let go of the Herald’s hand and breathed in shakily.

“He needs to stop taking lyrium,” the man announced. “Starting _now_.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've FALLen OUT of my writing scheldue again  
> sorry OTL

Cullen lunged forward, his sword catching rays of morning light and sending them down on a quick slide over the polished steel. With dizziness and _need_ tugging at his consciousness, Maxwell had barely enough time to dodge the attack, feet jerking to the side awkwardly and nearly sending him towards the pointy teeth of the battlements. He panted, trying to regain focus and raise his own sword in defense before the Commander would strike again. Even with his morning training intact, the lack of lyrium was pushing the Herald down onto his shoulders.

“That wasn’t very graceful,” Cullen frowned, lowering the weapon. Contrary to Maxwell’s, his breath was almost steady. “Are you sure you want to go on?”

The Inquisitor grunted, straightening his back. He was tired, and they’d begun fighting just recently.

“Yeah, I need this,” he answered, tucking away his desire to stop. “It’s the only thing that helps keeping my thoughts away from stuff.”

“I understand,” the man nodded with a sigh. “I’m going through the same, you know.”

“Yes,” Maxwell muttered, his hands squeezing the weapon harder. “I know.”

Two weeks had passed since they’d both stormed their way into Solas’s working room, the Commander clutching his friend’s hand desperately and voicing his urgent concerns to the elf. “He needs to stop taking lyrium immediately,” the man had announced, and the Herald could remember all the shock and rushing denial he’d felt upon hearing those words. According to Cullen, his memories were suffering from the ‘medicine’, and helpful or no, he’d have to continue living without it. Reluctantly, Solas had agreed to test Maxwell’s condition, and after an hour of getting less than half of information about his whole first month in the Inquisition, it had been decided that a halt was indeed necessary.

The first days had been manageable enough as the remains of previous ingestions had still circled through the Inquisitor’s body. But then they fainted, and his suffering jumped to a whole new level - since then, it had been a _burning torture_. Maxwell’s existence devolved into a sickening rotation of waking up, _waking up_ andgetting through frustration and raw need for the rest of the day. He could _hear_ lyrium calling out to him, and his visions were going wild and uncontrollable at times, but there was no wooden box in his room anymore, and both Cullen and Solas made sure the Herald wouldn’t find a way to come across it – or any other wooden box for that matter. Maxwell couldn’t blame them as he too understood how bad his condition was, and the empty space where his memories should have lingered was scaring him. He didn’t want to lose more than he’d already had.

He wanted to believe he’d be able get his memories back somehow, get better and resist lyrium if he saw it, but honestly, he wasn’t so certain… not with all the things he was fighting against. On top of that, his only hobby had to go as well: the templars at the practice ground had a strong smell around them, and it was impossible to stay close without going hysterical. The Inquisitor had to give up training among the recruits pretty quickly. Cullen, who’d followed the Herald’s steps in struggling against the addiction, suggested practicing together instead. As it had been promised (more or less), they’d both waved the lyrium goodbye, and Maxwell was grateful he wasn’t going through the withdrawal alone even if the Commander looked slightly weaker with each passing day.

The Herald had it much worse with the demon lying somewhere deep inside his being. His nightmares came back full-force, demanding Solas’s constant supervision, and they had to resume surviving the same bad dreams all over again. Maxwell wondered if he was crashing into the worst part of his illness - it certainly seemed like it. But they had a chance this time. The elf had told him they needed to find the demon as soon as possible, and if they managed to do so before the Inquisitor broke down completely, there would be a high possibility of curing him for good. That promise and the Commander’s continuous support were the only things that kept Maxwell’s hopes up.

He let out a long breath, steadying himself. The sun was shining right into the Herald’s back, warming it up, and for a moment he felt a little better- alas, only for a moment.

“How much time left?” he asked, preparing to defend himself.

“Not more than an hour,” came Cullen’s answer, and the man charged towards Maxwell again, sword cutting through the air and smashing against his shield. The Inquisitor’s feet slid back against the cold stone floor, and he mirrored the attack, weapon missing as the opponent avoided it in one swift motion. The Commander shifted from one leg to another and lunged once more. They fought until neither was able to continue, and Maxwell dropped to his knees, chest heaving, eyes glued to his friend while Cullen did his best to keep upright.

 _We’re both worn out,_ the Herald thought.

Shield and sword clanking loudly against the ground, he slowly rose to his feet and managed several steps forward, cutting the distance between himself and the Commander. Cullen lowered the weapon he was holding and wrapped his still healing hand around the man’s waist, lowering his head onto Maxwell’s shoulder and pressing closer to take in the scent. In this proximity, the Herald could feel how the Commander’s chest was moving, short erratic breaths surging up to his throat and out into the air. The man was trembling, and Maxwell raised a hand to smooth the shirt on his back, trying to soothe him.

“I’m so tired,” Cullen admitted in a soft, barely audible whisper. “I don’t know how I’m going to stay alive at the practice ground today…”

The Inquisitor rubbed his cheek against the man’s fair hair. He had no idea himself. It was the second time the Commander attempted to break away from the prison of his addiction, and as far as Maxwell could tell, this escape was far costlier than the previous one. If he’d known things would end up this way, he’d have never convinced Cullen to take lyrium again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his second hand sliding up the Commander’s back and securing him in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Cullen promised. “Everything is okay.”

Maxwell knew it was a lie.

***

_Sera was never an agreeable girl—_

_Her tongue tells tales of rebellion._

_But she was so fast,_

_And quick with her bow,_

_No one quite knew where she came from._

Meals tended to be less pleasurable when one had his head full of concerns and worries, and they were _especially_ sad when said person was also fighting a terrible addiction. The Inquisitor had picked his fork about fifteen minutes ago, and all he’d done since then was poke the contents of his plate with an absolute lack of expression. Cassandra peered at him from across the table but said nothing; she was used to seeing Maxwell like this already and knew it had to do with his sudden decision to quit lyrium (although she wasn’t aware of the reason beyond Solas’s ‘it is not helping the state he is in, but we know what to do, so this condition is only temporary’). The Herald didn’t doubt she wanted to help - it was obvious from simply glancing at her - but there was nothing the woman could do, so she kept silent about it.

_She would always like to say,_

_"Why change the past,_

_When you can own this day?"_

Maryden was standing by the fireplace of the half-crowded tavern, holding her lute with the most content smile he’d ever seen on her, singing her ‘Sera’ song with the sweetest voice possible- trying to attract the elf girl’s attention, no doubt. Maxwell let the music sink into his one ear and dive out from the other: even the soothing tune could do nothing about his gloomy mood.

The Seeker wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Sera is not even listening,” the woman said, looking up to the second floor where the elf girl’s door was shut tight. “Must Maryden pick this very song while we are here?”

Maxwell shrugged wordlessly, finally picking up a piece of carrot and shoving it into his mouth. It crunched nicely when he bit, fresh and sweet on his tongue, and he tried to concentrate on the flavor.

_But she was so sharp,_

_And quick with bow—_

_Arrows strike like a dragon._

“This way of showing her… feelings… is not going to work until she has that door open at least,” Cassandra went on.

“I’m sure Sera gets the drift,” the Inquisitor said. That he knew for a fact: closing the door was the elf’s way of shutting the noise outside of her world. And he’d been visiting the tavern every day for a long time now to know it had begun when the ‘Sera’ song had been undergoing creation. In other words, the elf girl wanted nothing to do with the bard. End of story.

The front door opened, and Maxwell glanced in the direction of the noise, chewing a piece of meat absently. It was Varric who entered his line of view. Scowling deeply, the dwarf started looking around… searching. _Something happened,_ the Herald realized, and for a brief moment Hawke’s face surfaced in his memory, grin wide and eyes shining.

Maxwell dropped the fork onto his plate and waved so Varric would notice him. As soon as the dwarf saw them, his scowl softened a little, and he made it quickly to the table. Cassandra sighed, locking her fingers together as Varric approached.

“What happened?” the Herald asked when he got close enough. “Has he returned?”

The dwarf gave him a short nod.

“Yeah,” he said in a worried voice, and somehow that worry got under Maxwell’s skin so swiftly he had no chance to defend himself. The Herald’s fingers tapped against the table.

“Where?”

“Just finished reporting,” Varric answered. “He’s injured but won’t show it. I think he’s heading to your chamber now since he told me before he wanted to talk to you…” He broke off and shifted from one foot to another nervously. “Inquisitor, he won’t listen to me. I know he can take care of himself because… well, because he’s Hawke. But he got it bad this time, I can feel it.”

“Got it.” The Inquisitor stood up abruptly, grabbed his mug and emptied it in a few long gulps.

“Don’t be pushy,” the dwarf said. “He acts all tough, but he’s barely holding up. If he’s gone searching for you, it probably means he trusts you to some extent, so… try to help him if he allows it.”

“Okay,” Maxwell promised, nodded to the Seeker and brushed past Varric without adding anything else. It had been more than a month since he’d last seen the Champion, and the man’s task had been vital. The Herald could only guess how many slips and hits happened with all the misfortune Hawke carried around on his shoulders. He had to return to his chamber as soon as possible.

There were no Grey Wardens in the courtyard apart from Blackwall who was now tending to the Herald’s horse in its stable, that much Maxwell got as soon as he got out of the tavern. It meant the Champion failed to bring people back, otherwise the picture would be different. Blackwall raised his head at the passing Inquisitor and shook it slowly, making the man tense even more. He needed to see Hawke immediately.

With that in mind, Maxwell hurried to the castle and then went straight to the door that led to his place. His steps were wide and hasty as he crossed the corridor, and the man didn’t falter until he entered the chamber.

As soon as Maxwell found himself inside, he saw Hawke lying on his unmade bed with his face down in the pillows. The man’s back was rising and falling evenly, indicating he was fast asleep or close to that state. The hem of his long-sleeved shirt was up, showing old, grey-ish bandages; some of them were marred with dry blood. The Inquisitor swallowed, coming over to the bed quietly, hesitant to wake the Champion up. He bended, took the edge of the shirt carefully and brought it higher, opening Hawke’s back a bit more to inspect.

Varric was right, he _had_ gotten himself into serious trouble. The bandages didn’t even cover all of the damage Hawke had received. Dirty stripes were torn in many places, and blood spots were almost everywhere, some faint and some disturbingly vivid. And it was only the Champion’s back… Maxwell was afraid of what he would see on the front side. Hawke needed a healer, urgently.

The Inquisitor lowered the shirt, intending to go find Solas while the man was asleep. Leaving him in such a state would definitely present issues later, and Maxwell couldn’t allow it, and not only because Hawke was important to the Inquisition, but because the Herald felt concerned when it came to the Champion. He was worried. He really was.

 _Because he’s my friend too, he is,_ the man thought. _He even came here instead of… whatever place he has. He trusts me. I can’t leave him to his wounds._

He straightened up and turned to leave, but then a weak, warm hand was grabbing his wrist, stopping him. Maxwell glanced down to see the Champion still lying there, unmoving, yet it was his hand that prevented him from storming out. The Inquisitor frowned as Hawke shifted a little, and the injured man let out a groan that was muffled by the pillow.

“I’m going to bring you a healer,” Maxwell said. “Don’t waste your energy trying to stop me.”

Fingers squeezed the Herald’s wrist tighter.

“N…no…” Hawke muttered. “’I don’t… need…”

“Yes, you do,” the Inquisitor cut him off abruptly. “Have you seen yourself? Your bandages are all ruined, we can’t leave them like that!”

“No…” the Champion grunted, tugging at Maxwell’s hand, asking him to stay.

This man was beyond reason. His cuts and bruises were screaming in agony- Maker, Hawke couldn’t even raise his head, yet he chose to act so foolishly. What was he thinking, asking Maxwell to stay? Didn’t he realize what this indifference could lead to?

The Champion shifted, obviously in pain, and tugged at the Herald’s wrist once again. His fingers jerked and relaxed, and the man’s hand detached and fell back on the bed, too weak to keep holding. Maxwell bit his lip, knowing full well that if he wanted to go, that was his opportunity. Hawke needed a healer more than anything right now.

“I promise… I had worse,” the Champion forced out. “I can handle this… Trust me. I can.”

Hawke stirred and after a few seconds rolled onto his back, hissing. There he lay, his body heavy against the mattress, and the Inquisitor wondered how this man had actually managed to report in this condition. How much strength it had taken for him to stay firm before the advisors.

“You’re an idiot,” he stated. “Who refuses help while being hurt so badly?”

At this Hawke let out a faint chuckle.

“I can handle this,” he repeated. “I just need some time to… to gather myself.”

“Yeah, right,” Maxwell glared at him. “Do you even have proper medicine? I think not.”

“Ah, well,” the Champion managed a crooked smile. “I was hoping you’d help me get it.”

“Uh huh.”

The Inquisitor rolled his eyes and walked to his table - there was a shelf next to it that held a box with medicine for emergency cases. He grabbed it quickly.

“Will you at least let me tend to your back?” he asked, returning to the bed. Hawke made a successful attempt to sit up and hunched forward.

“Is it that bad?” Hawke answered with a question of his own.

“Yeah,” Maxwell said, settling down next to him. “I wouldn’t want to get you a healer if I thought you were fine.”

“Tch.”

The Herald placed the box by his thigh. “We need to remove the shirt,” he muttered.

“Go ahead and cut it,” the Champion said. “I’ll find another.”

They started by unfolding the previous bandages, and the more Maxwell saw, the more his chest filled with sickness. He would have been overwhelmingly relieved if Hawke agreed to let Solas check his wounds, but the Champion was so stubborn… At least he allowed the Inquisitor to help, though Maxwell wasn’t sure about his abilities. He’d learned about providing first aid before, but it was the first time he was actually trying it out. As a result, his hands were trembling more than he would’ve liked, and he didn’t want Hawke to notice.

Thankfully, when he was about to begin cleaning the cuts on the Champion’s shoulder blade, the door to his chamber opened with a loud noise. Both men flinched and turned to the source only to find the Commander standing there, anxious, with his hand grabbing the door handle.

“Inqui-” Cullen began and then caught the sight of the Champion’s bare torso. He gasped. “Maker’s breath, you look horrible, I _knew_ it…” the man stated. “I will get a healer-”

“No need,” Hawke interrupted him. “We can do this ourselves.”

The Commander stared at the Inquisitor, and Maxwell shrugged once.

“It’s what he wants,” he said.

“But you do realize this is stupid, right?” Cullen sighed. “Call Solas if you want secrecy, you know that he-”

“No,” Hawke interrupted him again. “I don’t want any healers.”

The Commander groaned (Maxwell understood him completely) and closed the door. He then removed the overcoat and the belt and left all of that together with his sword on the couch. The Herald raised his eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going to replace you in this task,” the man answered. “I’ve got experience.”

The Champion suddenly tensed, Maxwell could tell from the way his shoulders twitched. But the man didn’t say anything, only forcing himself to relax when Cullen’s decision sank in.

 _He probably doesn’t want to be touched by someone he doesn’t trust,_ the Inquisitor thought. The Commander halted mid-way, undoubtedly noticing the change of air around Hawke as well. He brought a hand to his chin, leaning back slightly.

“I’m only doing this, because the Inquisitor is too nervous,” he said after a short while. “His hands are shaking.”

 _Thanks for pointing that out,_ Maxwell almost growled, squeezing a piece of wet cloth he was holding. Hawke, however, looked back at him and blinked in amusement.

“Is that so?” the man dropped his stare to the Herald’s hands.

“No, it’s _not_ ,” Maxwell lied awkwardly, handing the cloth to Cullen. He stood up and circled the bed to sit down on the other side: the Commander would need more space to deal with the problem properly.

Cullen got to work, brows lowered as he focused on Hawke’s damaged back. The Champion spent most of the treatment sitting still - his endurance was beyond any Maxwell had ever seen. The Commander, in his turn, explained why he’d appeared in the Inquisitor’s chamber in the first place: it had to do with the missing Wardens and the report Hawke had presented earlier.

As it turned out, Alistair had pointed at a Tevinter ritual tower in Western Approach, and both he and Hawke had traveled there to investigate. Alistair believed it was Corypheus who was guilty of the Wardens’ disappearance, though he’d explained it to Hawke only briefly: he himself was a Warden, after all, so he had to respect his oaths. The concept was that at some point every Grey Warden heard _the call_ that meant their days were running low, so they went to fight underground – it was meant to be a respectable way of ending a Warden’s life. Because of Corypheus, the call had become a collective thing. Sensing their deaths coming, the Wardens had decided to perform some kind of a grand blood ritual to stop the following Blights from happening – thus they would fulfill their purpose and die at peace.

As far as Maxwell grasped the story, all of them had gathered at the ritual tower, and when Hawke and Alistair got there, things went south pretty fast. The mission became a failure: the Warden leader managed to escape and was now on his way to the Adamant Fortress where he would be met by the remaining Grey Wardens.

“The ritual is a mistake,” Hawke muttered, wincing as the Commander brought the cloth to a nasty cut on his shoulder to clean it thoroughly. “Corypheus wants a demon army, and the Wardens are this close to gifting it to him,” the man motioned with his fingers and sighed. “I’m glad we were able to stop them at the tower.”

“You should have called us or something,” the Herald said.

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t much of a choice back there,” the Champion argued. “They were already at it when we arrived. Wasn’t like we could just walk in and ask them to wait for the Inquisition.”

Maxwell nodded absently as a dim memory of their previous conversation crossed his mind. Back there in the tavern he’d wanted to go with Hawke so much, but the man hadn’t let him. If only the Champion had agreed, maybe then they would have been celebrating a victory now instead of having… this. It made Maxwell so irritated... Angry. He let out a quiet breath, reminding himself about the demon. Angry was bad. Even more now that he didn’t have lyrium anymore-

“Bad news is the Wardens will undoubtedly try again,” Cullen said, pulling the Herald out of his thoughts. Maxwell was grateful. “This is why I wanted to talk to you as soon as possible. We need to get to the fortress before they finish the ritual and add a whole new problem to our list.”

“We?” The Inquisitor repeated. “You’re finally letting me deal with something dangerous?”

The Commander scowled, folding the wet cloth and bringing it to Hawke’s back. “If I was the one to decide, you would stay in safety of these walls,” he said.

That was true, of course, Maxwell knew. Cullen was probably afraid the Herald would lose his mind mid-attack or even drop dead before reaching the fortress. Maxwell, however, wanted to believe in the best: fighting was an easy thing to focus on, and with all the people that would be following him he thought he’d be able to hold himself together nicely. Besides, maybe a little push would only make things better…

“Why?” a question rose, and the Inquisitor snapped out of it. Hawke was watching the wall with a thoughtful expression, and somehow Maxwell had entirely forgotten there were three people sitting in the chamber. It dawned upon him that the Champion was unaware of the demon, and a small thorn of guilt stung him for not telling. Well, this was a first.

Cullen slowed down with the cleaning, taken aback as well. He opened his mouth to tell something, decided against it and threw an uncertain glance at the Inquisitor. Maxwell stared back at him for only a couple of seconds, trying to come up with an answer of his own, and that was enough for Hawke to catch their drift – actually, he simply had to take a look at the Herald to get it.

“Don’t you worry about it!” the Champion said, and an unexpected grin appeared on his face, draining confidence from both men in a flash. “I’ll take good care of him, that’s a promise!”

Next thing Hawke did was cringe as the Commander applied too much pressure. The harsh treatment was intentional – it was plainly obvious from the way Cullen’s eyes filled with irritation. Maxwell tilted his head, wondering about the change, but said nothing.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “I’d much rather you stayed here, but the others want you in and won’t listen to me. The matter is serious, and we do not have much time, this is why we will be leaving soon. The plan is already being carried out as we speak. Sister Leliana will tell you the details later.”

“How much later?” the Herald asked. Cullen dropped the bloody cloth into a bowl and picked up a fresh line of bandages.

“About five minutes ago,” he said, sounding hardly concerned. His hands moved carefully over the Champion’s skin. “I didn’t think I would run into Hawke here, not to mention his condition... But at any rate, I believe she will forgive us when we…” he trailed off, taking a moment to think. “When we come up with a worthy excuse.”

“Like what?”

“You can tell her I was sticking to you so much you had to use blood magic to get rid of me,” Hawke suggested light-heartedly, earning himself another painful sting. “Please, watch it,” the man added, smiling back slyly at the Commander over his shoulder. “I may get addicted to this so easily, you know.”

Cullen chose to ignore him.

“We can decide on our way to the meeting room,” the Commander offered. “I’m assuming Hawke will be staying here… He’s managed to waste his remaining energy on walking all the way to this chamber, after all.”

The Champion let out a short laugh that got away unpunished.

The rest of the bandaging process went in silence that was only broken when Cullen wrapped thin, white stripes around Hawke’s middle or when the latter’s breath hitched in his throat. The Champion even hissed a couple of times but otherwise kept calm until the end. As it had been decided, as soon as Cullen was finished, the man slipped under the blanket and settled in the warmth of the Inquisitor’s bed.

The Commander helped Maxwell gather scattered things and then went to pick his belongings – all of that while refusing to spend any more attention on the injured man. Hawke didn’t seem to be affected by it, though.

 _No, it’s more like… he’s having fun,_ the Inquisitor noted. He wasn’t sure what exactly could provide fun in this situation, but then again, the Champion was such a sunny person…

“Are you ready to go?” Cullen asked, clothes and sword back on their proper places. Maxwell was about to come along when Hawke spoke up.

“I’d _love_ to have a few words with him before he leaves,” the man uttered and winked, and the Herald could swear that the air around Cullen instantly shifted to utterly murderous. Yet when the Commander answered, his voice was clean of emotions.

“Of course. I will be waiting outside.”

With that he went out a little too quickly and shut the door a little too loudly. Maxwell felt uneasiness spread inside him immediately but couldn’t determine where this anxiety was coming from. Hawke, on the other hand, was wearing a satisfied smirk that could very possibly mean he knew what was going on. The Inquisitor approached the bed reluctantly.

“What was that all about?” he asked, and the Champion raised an eyebrow at him.

“You mean you haven’t noticed?” he asked back.

“Noticed what?”

This time Hawke gave the man an unbelieving stare, making him feel somewhat stupid. Was everything that obvious? If so, why couldn’t Maxwell get it?

“You’ve caught yourself quite a big fish, believe it or not,” the Champion said, pointing at the door with his thumb. “Didn’t think he could act so jealous.”

The Inquisitor gawked at him, having trouble gathering his thoughts all of a sudden.

“What? He’s jealous-?” he forced out, dumbfounded.

“…you _really_ haven’t noticed,” Hawke chuckled. “I admit that I couldn’t help pulling some of his strings there... didn’t expect him to storm off like that, though.”

“But why is he jealous?” Maxwell continued in confusion. “I haven’t done anything to make him doubt me…”

“Oh…”

_Oh no. Did I just…_

“So _that’s_ how it is,” Hawke went on. “Maker, I should’ve thought about it back when you almost ran into that servant…”

Time went still. The Herald swallowed a hard lump in his throat, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t intended to let anyone know the whole truth about his relationship with the Commander, be it Hawke or anyone else. The news though, the news had been so sudden and thus caught him unaware…

What could he do now? He didn’t want Hawke to begin raising uncomfortable questions!

“I thought Cullen behaved a bit strange in the Winter Palace,” the Champion said, pulling the man out of his thoughts efficiently. “I mean, he brought you back in, and you were doing far better than he at the time. But when healers took you, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. It was like he didn’t care about his hand at all.”

 _Maker, make him stop,_ Maxwell fought against another lump, this time for an entirely different reason. His insides were warming up as his mind drew pictures of what had happened at the ball, strong memories mixing with the ones he’d just received and creating a complete chain. It snaked around him, getting him immobilized and helpless, and if someone had told the Inquisitor he was flushing right now, he would’ve believed without arguing.

“You’re the Inquisitor, of course, and he has to be concerned about your safety,” Hawke was saying. “But he was clearly overreacting. I thought it was weird.”

 _Yeah… but only because you don’t know about the demon,_ Maxwell added, and there was that faint feeling of guilt again.

“Things cleared up today, I guess,” the Champion shrugged. “Didn’t think you were in a relationship, but I won’t run my mouth, promise.”

“Yeah... I’d appreciate it,” the Inquisitor agreed, bringing his hands across his chest. The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stood there without saying more. He’d never had this kind of conversation with anyone besides the Commander, and if it had been awkward then, now it was absolutely stunning. He wanted to run, but he wanted to stay, too.

Fortunately, Hawke seemed to get the idea and changed the subject swiftly.

“I wanted to talk to you about something else,” the Champion said. Maxwell fell out of his stupor at that and attempted to focus on what the man had to say. “It might not be a better topic, but I have to tell you about it anyway.”

“What is it?” the Herald asked.

“Remember our little talk at the tavern? The one where I told you I sensed something was wrong with you?”

 _It is so not a better topic…_ Maxwell wailed internally and nodded.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time now… I know about that mark of yours, and what it does to the rifts,” Hawke continued. “I know you started feeling worse after your first date with the Elder God. Your advisors can’t find the reason of your illness no matter how much they dig. You do know they are digging, right? Because they’re worried about their Inquisitor.”

“I figured,” the Herald answered. He also knew Solas and Cullen had it covered and wouldn’t open the real source to anyone until Maxwell asked them to.

“Varric told me about that nightmare of yours and about lyrium – I suppose, you started taking it to boost your resistance to magic? Anyway, his words and my instincts led me to making a wild guess and betting on you knowing more than the others. I went straight ahead, told you about it, and you confirmed.” Hawke paused for a moment as a scowl made its way to his face.

Maxwell was barely able to keep himself from wailing aloud as he recalled that day.

_“Besides, it’s written on your face. You have some big old disaster getting to you, and judging by everyone’s “ignorance” no one knows about that.”_

The Herald had thought Hawke knew something was bugging him due to his strong connection to the Fade… he’d been naïve and let him learn more than it was necessary.

…was it a bad thing, though?

“Thing is, you looked a lot better when I was heading out to Crestwood,” Hawke said. “Now the air around is charged with desperation, and people want to take you to Adamant. Cullen is right to be worried. To tell you the truth, I thought he knows about you – seemed that way when he said he’d rather have you here than in the heat of battle. But I suppose he was acting out of concern...”

 _He wasn’t, not entirely,_ Maxwell thought, looking down at his feet, _and I’m getting frustrated with not telling you the truth._

“You can’t go against the Inquisition and stay here, Inquisitor, so I’ll have to keep an eye on you. This is why I was wondering if you can tell me what’s going on...” the Champion looked up at the man and caught his eyes, refusing to let go. “I do understand you’re a ‘hold it all in’ kind of person, but this is important. You don’t even have to paint a detailed picture for me. Whatever it is you come up with, it’s my answer.”

And there they were, heavy silence descending on the chamber as Hawke spoke no more and Maxwell struggled to come up with a response that would leave them both satisfied. He didn’t want to ‘hold it all in’ when the Champion was looking at him like that- no, he didn’t want to do it at all. But opening up would mean – well, _opening up_ , and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Letting Cullen and Solas know about his insecurities was hard enough.

But it was only Hawke, wasn’t it? What could go wrong if he let Hawke know? He trusted the man enough, not to mention the trust was mutual: the Champion chose to come to the Herald’s chamber when he was badly injured because he trusted Maxwell would take care of him. He showed Maxwell his weak side and let the man take care of him. Maybe it was time to return the favor? Wasn’t that what friends did?

“I… I need to think about it,” the Herald finally said.

Hawke nodded, and his stare dropped from the man’s face. “I get it,” he agreed quietly. “We still have to reach Adamant, and Cullen is probably tired of waiting for you, so… yeah. Sorry about that. Take your time.”

At that their conversation was over. Hawke brought the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes, intending to have a long deserved break. The worried lines on his skin smoothened gradually and made him look strangely peaceful. Despite feeling anxious and _wanting_ to talk more, Maxwell let him enjoy his rest and stepped outside, closing the door as gently as he could.

He found the Commander leaning to the wall not so far from his doorstep: the man was wearing a calm expression but still looked somewhat exhausted with his eyes shut and corners of his mouth lower than usual.

Cullen flinched slightly when he heard the Herald exit the chamber and straightened his back against the stone, waiting for Maxwell to approach.

“Sorry it took so long,” the Inquisitor said, lining up with him.

“All good,” the Commander shrugged, and the strain in his voice was so sharp Maxwell could swear he’d be able to cut air with it if he wanted. The man hummed, watching Cullen closely as he picked his next words.

“You don’t have to feel jealous, you know,” the Herald assured him. “Hawke’s just a friend.”

“So, you’re friends now,” Cullen muttered, ruining the attempt in a flash.

Both fell silent. The Commander turned away swiftly and started walking towards the hall while Maxwell stood on his spot, wide-eyed and confused. He got his bearings a while after and caught up with Cullen, wondering if there was anything he could say to make things different.

 _This_ was jealousy? Maxwell had never experienced the feeling before, but now that it was directed at him, he could feel frustration settling in his unsteady heart. He wanted it away.

“Listen, I…” he started nervously. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong there-”

“You didn’t do anything,” Cullen cut him off, not even averting his eyes from the door up ahead. Now it was starting to get irritating because while he did say Maxwell wasn’t guilty, the way he said it implied otherwise.

“I… wait, I- Hold on!”

The Inquisitor finally snapped and grabbed the man’s hand. Cullen turned around on instant, breathing in sharply, and Maxwell realized it was the bandaged one he had in his grasp. He stared at it wordlessly as his mind tried to cling to any coherent thought, and the Commander didn’t rush to say anything either. Moreover, there was no emotion present on his face – nothing betrayed what he was really thinking. The man tried to pull his hand back, but Maxwell didn’t let go.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re seriously killing me,” the Herald choked out. “This relationship with you is so new to me, and I’m trying my best! But you here, you aren’t helping at all! Do you really need to be so cold? Do you need to lie in my fa-”

“Well, good trying, Inquisitor!” Cullen lashed out at him suddenly. “Go find yourself more people to get all friendly with, and you will destroy me completely! Great work!”

As soon as the last word left his mouth, the man jerked as if he was shocked by his own statement and then pulled away again. This time Maxwell let him.

“You think I’m replacing you…?” he forced out, unbelieving. “Hawke was injured, and he doesn’t trust a lot of people, so he came to me! You know that I’d never…” the man’s breath hitched, and he trailed off, shuddering.

_Don’t do it. Can’t feed from the demon._

Maxwell’s behavior seemed to stun the Commander completely as the man became reluctant to respond. He simply stood there and watched, and anger that was flying around started to evaporate slowly.

_Can’t feed…_

The day was awful. Maxwell had hoped he’d have to deal with one thing at a time, but here he was, lying flat against the ground with two giant stones pressing down on him. He could manage Hawke’s request, but Cullen was a little too much.

A replacement? Where _on Thedas_ did he get _that_ idea? The Herald had thought he’d showed Cullen enough of himself to make the man understand he was serious about their relationship. That thing the Commander had said, it was so damaging…

“I…” the Commander was saying, obviously not so confident anymore. “I didn’t mean to say it like that… I… overreacted. It’s my fault.”

The Inquisitor lowered his head with a sigh, and that made Cullen even more uptight.

“It’s just… I’ve never felt like this before,” the man admitted. He made a step closer to Maxwell and wrapped a hand around his middle when he didn’t back away. “I’m sorry.”

The Herald allowed himself not to answer. The Commander embraced him carefully, bringing his hands to the man’s back, and they shared warmth once again – the warmth in which Maxwell tried to find his composure. He felt a soft kiss on his temple and relaxed.

Cullen hesitated to loosen his hold when he leaned away later. The Herald didn’t want to separate either, but there were duties waiting for them. He knew the Spymaster wasn’t fond of waiting.

“Leliana wants to talk to me,” he said, squeezing the Commander’s arm. “We can save this for later. We’ll have to.”

Cullen nodded. “Let’s go.”

They went forward without talking but kept as close to each other as possible. Maxwell came to terms with his inner world and was feeling better. Contrary to his condition, Cullen remained tense, and the more time passed, the more embarrassed he became, if subtle changes in his posture was anything to go by. Maxwell assumed it had something to do with his curiosity about what he and Hawke had talked about. The same curiosity that led him to anger, no doubt.

He supposed there was no harm in sharing. Besides, he needed advice.

“If you’re wondering what I and Hawke were talking about,” he began, and Maker, it was a direct hit, “then let me tell you that our topic was the demon. Though Hawke doesn’t know yet.”

“How so?” the Commander asked.

“I may have hinted at something without realizing it,” Maxwell admitted. “He’ll be watching over me at the Adamant Fortress, so he asked me to tell him what is it I’m really dealing with. You think it’s a good idea to tell him?”

Cullen glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing. “It may be. He is the savior of Kirkwall, and believe me, that title didn’t just fall on his head while he wasn’t looking. He always tries to go into battle with at least some knowledge about his enemies. And more importantly, he always knows his companions - has to back them up when they get hit in their weak spots. Both physically and mentally.”

“You sound like you’ve been in battle with him before,” the Inquisitor said.

“I have,” the Commander confirmed. “In Kirkwall. The clash between the mages and the templars -Hawke sorted it out to some extent.”

“Oh…”

 _Better tell him, after all,_ Maxwell decided. _If he knows me good enough, he may actually be able to save me at some point._

The Herald didn’t know where to start and how not to chicken out in the process, but he supposed he’d manage somehow. He only needed to keep it mind that Hawke was safe. Like the Commander, he was Maxwell’s friend.

_Don’t you forget that._

The Inquisitor opened his mouth to say something else, but then they reached the war room, and the door opened before they even touched it, revealing sister’s Leliana unpleased face.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Long time no see. I wonder if anyone's still around. If so...  
> SORRY SORRY SORRY  
> OTL

The sky was seized by a vortex of dark clouds that cycled lazily around the Breach. Maxwell’s ears caught rare flashes of ominous thunder, but his eyes refused to leave the Champion’s face as he voiced his story, sentence after sentence in a fluid speech he’d thought he’d prepared beforehand. It was supposed to include all the details about the Elder God, the demon, the Herald’s weakness while he was denying lyrium… yet when it came to actually letting words out, Maxwell found himself somewhat shortening the original version. Hawke watched him from the seat on the opposite side of the carriage with a deep frown. He hadn’t interrupted Maxwell even once.

“Morrigan told me I merged with the demon, but according to Solas she appears to be incorrect,” the Inquisitor was saying. “He told me the demon is inside me somewhere, but it’s hidden so well no one can find it. We’ve been searching for it for months.”

“Solas can reach into your nightmares,” Hawke muttered, pressing his locked fingers to his chin. “He’s quite strong, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Maxwell nodded. “That’s part of reason I don’t tell many people the full story. I’m no mage, but even I know mages can’t get into other people’s heads unless they’re gifted. Solas is. Hence, I don’t need anyone else. Besides, if someone equally gifted was around, they’d know without me mentioning it. Like Morrigan… though she’s incorrect in her assumptions.”

“Fair enough,” the Champion agreed. “So, that’s Solas, Cullen and me now, right? Heh, knew he was involved.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” the Herald offered an uneasy smile.

“No worries, I figured it’s a rough topic,” Hawke shook his head once. “Wish I could help you somehow, but I’m no better than Solas in this, that’s for sure. Makes me wonder, actually. How he got this kind of power, I mean. I’ve known Morrigan for a while now – she’s a witch of the Wilds, but even she doesn’t seem to be so powerful. Not yet, at least.”

Maxwell shrugged: he’d been wondering about the elf’s secret as well, but Solas was reticent, and he respected the elf’s privacy. If Solas decided to tell him someday, he’d listen eagerly - there was no other way. He wouldn’t go wailing around in order to get Solas’s story just because he wanted.

“Anyway, that’s it,” he said. “You wanted it, you have it. What now…?”

“Now we get to Adamant,” Hawke straightened up and leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head. “If we bump into demons, we check your effect on them, assuming you can still mix in. How’re you holding up, by the way?”

“Not bad,” Maxwell answered. “I want lyrium, but not all the time like I used to. It’s more of a spontaneous thing these days. Maybe I’m getting better, but… on the other hand, the ill effects are getting stronger.”

“So there’s not much time,” the Champion summed up. “Hey, do you think we can make this demon of yours shine brighter somehow? Maybe spending time among others demons will make it more visible for you and Solas?”

“I don’t know,” the Herald muttered. “Didn’t have enough opportunities to check, but I think if that was an option, Solas would do something about it.”

“Like bring demons into your dreams? What is he, a god?” The Champion’s eyebrows went up as he gave a short, bitter laugh. “That sounds a bit extreme.”

“Everything sounds a bit extreme to me these days,” Maxwell sighed. “As far as I remember, he _did_ manage to detect the demon when I was nearly dead. Choosing between that and demons, I’d pick… I don’t know what I’d pick. I’m weak without lyrium, so I’ve got no idea how I’m going to act around those guys. You may have to bring me down if it comes to that.”

“Cullen will kill me if I do,” Hawke objected. “Not to mention the rest of the Inquisition. They cherish you, you know. Especially Cassandra. Never thought she’s capable of doing that.”

“She’s softer than she looks.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Their conversation slowed down to a halt, and after a minute Hawke brought his legs up to his seat and crossed them, slouching. It was obvious he was attempting to stomach the freshly received information, so Maxwell left the man to his thoughts and leaned to a window, focusing on what little space of the outside it offered. The Inquisition was getting closer and closer to the Adamant Fortress; a battle was waiting ahead, one Maxwell hoped he would survive. Hawke was a welcoming support here… even though the Herald was still wondering how his healing system worked: the Champion hadn’t been able to keep himself upright not so long ago, and now he was looking better than Maxwell.

Someone passed the carriage on a horse, catching the Inquisitor’s attention. The man fidgeted, wondering if it was Cullen who’d just passed, but the thought was dismissed quickly as he remembered the Commander was riding among the templars in the front lines. Warden Alistair and Blackwall were there with him, and Maxwell had asked to join them when they’d been leaving Skyhold, but they’d next to ordered him to stay with the Champion in a more comfortable arrangement because they both were recovering and needed all strength they could get. Cullen hadn’t looked very pleased when he’d been voicing the decision, and remembering that made Maxwell’s heart beat a little faster in his chest.

 _Not the time to be thinking about that,_ he reminded himself grimly. _Better do it when we return to Skyhold. Both, alive._

The Herald sighed again and returned to Hawke who was now busy examining something he’d fished out of his pocket. It appeared to be a small object that couldn’t be bigger than a coin and thus wasn’t visible from where Maxwell was settled. The man pressed his lips together, curious.

“What are you holding there?” he asked. Hawke looked up.

“A locket,” he answered simply.

“Never seen it on you,” Maxwell said.

“Ah, well…” the Champion looked to the side, clearing his throat quietly. “I don’t usually wear it around my neck.”

“Why not?”

“It’s heavy.”

“…a locket,” Maxwell lowered an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Hawke nodded. “Not physically. It’s my mother’s. Got it from her a while back.” He shifted his hand and took the locket by the thin silver chain, letting the circle drop and hang in the air. “Want to take a closer look?”

“Yeah,” the Herald reached out and took the locket without hesitation. It was warm and smooth, with round carvings that formed a nice pattern. He popped it open to meet the face of an unknown woman with grey hair and thin wrinkles, but even with these she was undeniably beautiful. She instantly reminded Maxwell of Hawke, so that had to be his mother.

_Of course she is. Who else can that be?_

The picture on the other side showed a pretty girl with long, curly black hair. She was smiling shyly and looked around fifteen.

“Your mother and your sister?” Maxwell asked, glancing up at the Champion.

“Yeah, the most important women of my life,” Hawke smiled warmly, and then his smile morphed into affectionate laughter. “Also two most beautiful women in entire Thedas.”

“Can’t argue with that,” the Inquisitor agreed, closed the locket and handed it back to the man. Somewhere in the back of his mind Maxwell noticed that despite showing his usual, cheerful behavior, Hawke had something thorny lurking in his dark eyes. He was about to ask, but the carriage suddenly came to a stop, and the Herald would’ve fallen to the floor if the Champion’s hand hadn’t caught his shoulder.

“What’s going on-?” Maxwell gasped, straightening up.

“I think we have arrived,” Hawke answered and rose from his seat. “The situation must be rougher than I thought.”

As if in confirmation, soldiers started running on the outside, shouting. Maxwell rushed to the window.

“We’re under attack,” he uttered and then fell silent abruptly, realizing that Cullen must have already met the enemy – he was in the front lines of the army, after all. Color drained from the Inquisitor’s face.

_He’s in danger. He may get himself killed._

“We need to go, _now,_ ” Maxwell breathed out, grabbing the door handle, and Hawke seemed to get the source of his worries fast because he followed without objections. They got out of the carriage, feet stepping onto soft sand, and looked about to estimate the danger: people in back rows were idle but alerted and kept checking the location. The Herald focused on the other side then and saw some movement, but it looked like there wasn’t much of a fight going on at the front either.  Strange.

_I thought-_

“Let’s go,” Hawke called from beside him and started walking. Maxwell didn’t need to be told twice and hurried after, desperate to make it to the Commander.

As the two men were making their way past soldiers, they noticed a thick cloud of smoke rising up ahead – Adamant was burning. The Inquisitor got closer to Hawke and grabbed a sleeve of his black shirt.

“The Inquisition is still on its way, so… who’s attacking?” he asked nervously.

“I don’t know,” the Champion answered, sounding confused too. “Must be Orlais or something, I think I heard your Ambassador talking about borrowing a few trebuchets. But it doesn’t explain why we stopped like this… Come on, we’re almost there. Cullen should be able to explain the situation.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Inquisitor?” a new voice cut in, and Maxwell lifted his head to see a young soldier fidgeting right in front of him. “The Commander is asking for you. We are about to attack.”

“Oh, Maker…”

The Herald let out a relieved sigh as soon as he realized that not only Cullen was okay, he’d also gotten rid of whatever it had been that made them stop.

“Lead the way,” he said curtly.

***

As the Commander explained later under a cascade of Maxwell’s worried stares, the halt had been caused by an overwhelming force - definitely magic, but source unidentified. When the Inquisition had caught its first glimpses of the Adamant Fortress, it had also become a witness of a burning red, round wave that had splashed from the strong walls. While it hadn’t done any damage to the soldiers or the trebuchets, it had made everyone freeze on their spots and then vanished instantly.

“Don’t know many people who can pull this off,” Warden Alistair said, watching the fire rise off the walls. “But if it is who I think it is, we’re in luck.” He turned to the Commander. “Now is as good time as any. Wave didn’t hit us, it’s not directed against us.”

Cullen nodded, throwing a glance at the Inquisitor and the Champion: both looked puzzled but ready enough to begin. The Commander nodded again and stepped towards Adamant, hand raising his sword to give an order.

There, the nightmare launched. Countless voices mixed into one giant shout as soldiers rushed forward, weapons and ladders in their hands, feet kicking chaotically against the sand. The trebuchets came into action as well, completing the picture of utter destruction that must have screamed all across the Western Approach.

Maxwell found himself panicking for a split second because he’d never taken part in this side of the action before, and vivid memories of the attack on Haven rushed into his head, making it even worse. Then a hand landed on his shoulder, snapping him out of it quickly.

“Don’t worry,” Cullen said. “Everything will be okay. Do what you do best and stick to Hawke.”

“Yeah,” the Champion agreed light-heartedly and dropped his hand on the Herald’s second shoulder. “You’re safe with me.”

The two men shared a look Maxwell didn’t quite comprehend. The Commander scowled, and Hawke smiled broadly, and then his hand slapped reassuringly against the Inquisitor’s shoulder again, making Cullen’s scowl deepen.

“We should go,” the Champion added, releasing the confused Inquisitor a moment later. “Need to find that leader of theirs and make sure he doesn’t summon an army of demons. You know, the usual.”

“Be careful,” Cullen ignored the man, all attention on Maxwell and his hand reluctant to detach. “Don’t run around blindly; use your mark only when it is absolutely necessary.”

“Got it,” Maxwell nodded. There was a brief moment when they both just stared into each other’s eyes, and the Herald thought about leaning in and maybe kissing him for luck… Yet in the end he decided against it, and the opportunity was lost. The Commander’s hand dropped to his side, and Hawke dashed towards the fortress. He was a good runner; Maxwell needed to follow close if he wanted to stay in the Champion’s vicinity.

The way into the fortress was rough, to say the least. Soldiers of the Inquisition were met by angry, flaming arrows that showered on their heads from the half-ruined walls. Ladders suffered from stones - another rain that was used directly against any means of climbing over. The easiest way of getting in turned out to be the front gates that fell apart after a series of successful hits, which, unfortunately, also cost a lot of lives.

Hawke did his best to protect Maxwell as he’d promised: a lot of attacks were launched against the Inquisitor as soon as he entered the battle, but none of them reached their target. He’d never known the Champion was _that_ good at throwing objects – knives, mostly – at random targets, moving or not. Hawke’s speed increased tremendously, yet so did his bad luck, and soon Maxwell was protecting him as much as the Champion did so towards him. Alistair joined them at the battlements, and the real challenge began.

Demons. Maxwell stopped dead as soon as he spotted a few of them ahead, and so did both the Warden and he Champion. Coated in blood, Hawke licked his lips and looked at the Herald, expecting him to try out what they’d talked about earlier.

“Go on, we’ll cover you,” he said.

Alistair raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. The Champion noticed the silent question, however, and answered with a short ‘trust us’. They stayed by, eliminating everyone who dared getting too close while Maxwell approached the demons slowly with the Anchor glowing beneath the leather.

“Hey,” he greeted nervously, not making any move to attack. He tried to be as smooth as possible.

The demons didn’t jump into attack right away, and that was a good sign. They growled and acted tense and uneasy, but still…

“Is this for real?” Alistair breathed out from behind Maxwell.

“Quiet, we don’t know for sure,” Hawke hissed at him. “Watch his back in case they decide to be violent.”

The Inquisitor felt a little more confident and got closer. If he was able to stay among demons without them tearing him apart, that could only mean…

_I can try ordering-_

“Careful! Step back!” someone shouted suddenly, and the next moment ruined everything. Arrows started flying, and the demons went berserk as soon as they understood they were being attacked. The closest target was Maxwell, and they lashed out at him without further hesitation.

“Maker’s breath!” Alistair gasped, dashing forward together with Hawke to protect the Inquisitor. More demons appeared as if they had been summoned, and they outnumbered the attackers pretty fast. Thankfully, help didn’t take long to arrive too: Cassandra, Solas and Varric jumped into the clash and thus saved the day.

Maxwell’s hopes at controlling the demons were crushed.

“It’s fine,” Hawke slapped him on the back. “You just need more privacy with them.”

“Are you okay?” Cassandra approached the three men swiftly, voice heavy with worry. Solas looked Maxwell over and seemed to reach some kind of conclusion he opted not to share, and Varric stopped at the Champion’s side with Bianca resting over his shoulder. For some reason, Hawke shook his head even though the dwarf didn’t say anything.

“We’re good, thanks to you,” Alistair answered, and it surprised Maxwell he didn’t mention their failure with the demons.

“Let’s move on, then,” the Seeker nodded. “We should-”

A distant roar made her fall silent abruptly, and everyone raised their heads to the dark clouds, searching until they noticed a small shape far away. It was getting closer and bigger with each second and finally took form of a dragon, and a familiar one to that.

“Maker,” Maxwell breathed out as he recognized the creature perfectly. It was the very same dragon that he’d seen at Haven. It was the pet of the Elder God’s. “Corypheus should be nearby! It’s his!”

“Oh no…” Cassandra bit her lip, following the dragon with her eyes. “How… why- Maker! It’s coming straight at us! RUN!”

Her order was as loud as thunder and still sank in the next roar entirely, but it wasn’t like the action needed to be voiced anyway: running was the first thing that came to mind when one saw a dragon flying their way.

As Maxwell moved his legs in a desperate attempt to find a sufficient spot for hiding, his thoughts battled in his head, throwing reality into his face. Where was he running? The creature was getting closer and closer too fast; he’d never make it off the battlements. Somewhere below, Cullen was probably searching for him with fear of loss gnawing at his each movement, each hasty thought. The same fear that burned in the Herald now when he came to realize he may never see the one he’d come to care so much about ever again. His heart threatened to break, but even it didn’t have enough time to do much because the dragon landed directly on the battlements, shattering the floor like it was made of glass and sending everyone to the lower levels of the fortress. An unavoidable death by crushing against the ground, bones broken and insides out.

***

Maxwell never reached the floor. Eyes shut tight, he still expected to meet his death any second now, but nothing was happening. The Anchor was buzzing a little too forcefully, and it itched too, itched so hard the feeling was starting to climb over fear and expectation, forcing its way to the Inquisitor’s brain. He bared his teeth, hissed and cracked his eyelids open.

First thing he saw was dirty ground that was hovering – or, to put it correctly, _he_ seemed to be the one hovering – inches away from his face. Maxwell raised- _lowered_ his hand to touch it, and the spell that was holding him up broke instantly. He fell to the floor and coughed when dust got into his nostrils. Hawke snorted, and the sound made the Herald jerk his head up, cough becoming violent in his throat.

As the man looked around, he vaguely recalled being in a similar place before. Green mist, dim puffs of light, soft buzzing – had to be the Fade, all of it felt so familiar... The only difference was that he didn’t end up here all alone: Hawke and Alistair were present nearby but not actually standing on the ground. Hawke’s feet were glued to the upper rocks, and he kept staring about with an amused face while Alistair walked down a stone wall, a picture with cautiousness and apprehension. Cassandra was wandering back and forth farther away, as stunned as Varric was next to her. Solas kept looking up with a thoughtful expression. There was no one else in here; no soldiers, no demons - nothing.

 _What on Thedas…?_ The Inquisitor thought, rising to his trembling feet. His hand went to scratch the glove, under which the Anchor was pulsing.

“If we’re dead, where’s the others?” Hawke asked. “Or do we get a special place because we’re so awesome?” Maxwell couldn’t really understand where the cheerful behavior was coming from; they were lost in the middle of nowhere-

_Ah, wait. It’s Hawke. He’s always like that._

“This is the Fade,” Solas said slowly, focused on a green vortex that was shifting in the distance. “The Inquisitor opened a rift. We came through… and survived.” His voice was thick with excitement, something Maxwell didn’t remember ever witnessing. The elf turned, eyes landing on him directly, and if the Inquisitor hadn’t known better, he’d have thought Solas was _admiring_ him. “I never thought I would ever find myself here physically...”

Maxwell fidgeted, not used to being stared at like that. “Uh… Must be very exciting for you, Solas.”

“Look. The Black City, almost close enough to touch… I wonder what spirit commands this place.” The elf finally tore his eyes from the Herald, and the man breathed out in relief. “I have never seen anywhere like it.”

He wasn’t even suspicious…

There was sudden yelp, and then a loud thud followed it, making Maxwell jump on his spot, all nerves on alert again. He turned on his heel sharply, instincts kicking in and making him grab the hilt of his great sword… but it was only Hawke, who’d somehow managed to fall down to the ground and was now rubbing the back of his head.

“Ow, ow…” he winced (old wounds were screaming at him, no doubt) and the Herald let go of his sword to get to the Champion’s side and help him up.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“Yeah… my feet just stopped clinging there for some reason,” Hawke answered with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Maybe it’ll be better if you don’t try doing tricks in here anymore, Hawke,” Varric said, approaching them from behind, brows furrowed. The Champion made a face. “This doesn’t look like the Fade in our backyard. Just saying.”

“All right, all right…” the man raised his hands in defeat. His amusement faltered. “You win. Just don’t go doing the same thing you guys did last time.”

The dwarf sighed and shook his head. Beside him, Maxwell frowned, curiosity finding its way to his core through a thick wall of anxiousness, but there was no way he’d begin asking questions: they simply didn’t have a luxury of time. Somewhere, the Inquisition was fighting against a dragon - _Corypheus’s_ dragon - which meant they had to get back to Adamant as soon as possible if they wanted to find anyone alive.

 _Cullen is struggling without me,_ a thought supported him. _Need to make sure he’s alright._

“Well, we got better. Sort of,” Varric was grunting. Whatever had happened, it must’ve left him feeling guilty. “You know. At any rate, we need to get out of here... The dragon is waiting. And a newborn army of demons too, probably.”

“…yeah, you’re right,” Hawke agreed hesitantly. “What’s our plan, then?”

“Plan, uh… I might have an idea.” Warden Alistair attracted their eyes with a wave of his hand. He’d gotten down to the floor while Maxwell had been helping the Champion to his feet and was now pointing up at the vortex. “Look up there. In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby. In the main hall. Can we get out the same way?”

“There was a rift?” the Inquisitor asked, a little confused. He hadn’t noticed any of them when he’d been in the fortress… then again, he’d been in a hurry to find the Warden leader.

“Yes, it should still be open,” Alistair confirmed. “Beats waiting here, right? Besides, our friend there looks like he could use some walking.”

Maxwell threw a puzzled glance to where the Warden nodded. Solas had left the group at some point to wander from one place to another by himself, quiet steps never reaching anyone’s ears. The elf was still paying attention to the rest of them, however, because as soon as everyone fell silent, he looked over his shoulder to check up on them.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, leaning on his staff.

“Yeah, let’s head out,” Maxwell answered. He moved forward, making sure to stay close to everyone. Mostly to Hawke and Solas, though:  the elf seemed to know what he was doing, and the Champion’s daily portion of bad luck had already started to show. The Herald wanted to be nearby in case something horrible decided to happen.

When he was passing by Cassandra, the woman clasped her fingers around his wrist. Maxwell raised his eyes to hers, waiting for her to explain. She was the only one who hadn’t spoken since they’d entered the Fade.

“Is this how it was with you?” she asked after a while, letting go of him. “When you were in the Fade with the Divine...”

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember it at all,” he answered, and it was the truth, they both knew it. “I’d tell you if something changed.”

“I understand,” she said softly, and suddenly Maxwell felt a bitter sting of guilt. He was aware of the Seeker’s admiration towards the Divine, and things must’ve gotten way harder for her after they’d announced there would be a new one. With the demon and all, the Herald had forgotten about the matter. He’d have to address it properly once the Adamant Fortress was left behind.

The group proceeded, slow and careful. From them all, only Solas was interested in staying for a longer period: it was obvious from how he kept staring at random objects and talking about them as if everyone was on a tour. It was a side of the elf Maxwell hadn’t known existed, and the man couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

Demons hadn’t attacked them so far. On the contrary, the place looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago... which, as far as the Herald knew, couldn’t really be true, not to mention he _was_ feeling something vague in the air – some kind of unnatural presence that was hiding within their reach and staying invisible. Solas had to be feeling it too, yet he didn’t say anything.

“This is fascinating,” he was saying instead. “It is not the area I would have chosen, of course. But to physically walk within the Fade…” He let out a content sigh.

“Yeah, we get it, you’re having lots of fun,” Varric muttered. The elf was walking too far away from him and hence didn’t catch. Maxwell, on the other hand, did.

“It’s better than having him depressed,” he said.

“I guess, you’re right,” Varric agreed. “I just wish we’d gotten out of here sooner.”

“Quit worrying,” Hawke cut in with a chuckle. “I know what you’re thinking about. I’m not made of glass... Besides, I’ve given up on perf-”

**_“Ah, we have a visitor.”_ **

The entire group stopped dead on their tracks. Hawke closed his mouth, never letting out the rest of his sentence. Maxwell reached for his sword in perfect sync with Cassandra and Alistair while Solas lowered his staff, raising his free hand to keep them waiting.

“The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful,” he warned. “I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations.”

 _Great, it knows we’re here,_ Maxwell thought gloomily before drawing level with Solas.

“What are we going to do about it?” he asked.

“Wait,” the elf answered. “I understand it was a greeting of some sort. If so, we need to wait for the spirit to continue.”

The Inquisitor shrugged and folded his hands across his chest, expecting to hear more, but no words followed. The group gathered in a small circle, and it was funny how everyone kept silent as well, waiting for Solas to tell them what to do. Or it would have been funny if it hadn’t been utterly terrifying.

A couple of minutes later, having witnessed no other signs of the spirit, the six of them had to resume walking. Maxwell didn’t drop his hands but shifted them unconsciously so he was hugging himself. When he’d been heading to Adamant in that carriage, he’d thought he was prepared for anything. Now he didn’t know where exactly he was or how long things were going to stay like this, and on top of that, his awareness of the situation at the fortress was crystal clear and nagging. He hoped to Maker Cullen was alive. If he walked out of the rift only to see him dead…

The thought was scarier than anything Maxwell could think of.

After another hundred steps or so the sound of water dripping from numerous stones above became less soothing and more threatening. So far, it had been the only sound that was coming from the world they’d found themselves in, and the Herald thought he’d detected something else but couldn’t really determine it. Solas stayed calm. Hawke stayed calm, too.

Until they saw a figure up ahead.

The group halted again, on full alert this time, and once more the elf who’d been walking in the beginning of their line raised his hand to make them wait.

“Name yourself, spirit,” he addressed the figure, and it came closer, making itself more visible to its guests. Behind Maxwell, Cassandra gasped.

“Divine Justinia...” she whispered. “Most Holy…?”

The woman in front of them was wearing an unmistakable gown. The Herald blinked at her, trying to figure out if he’d met her before- he _had_ to have met her… but he couldn’t remember. It was like she belonged to a part of memories he’d lost what felt like an eternity ago.

“Cassandra,” she said, watching the Seeker. While her voice sounded warm, her face didn’t betray any emotions.

“This is the Divine?” Maxwell asked. “You can tell?”

Cassandra breathed in, eyeing the woman carefully. “I… I don’t know. It is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but… We know the spirits lie.” She flashed him a concerned look. “Be wary, Inquisitor.”

“You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves,” the woman said, words smooth and emitting no threat. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“I don’t think she means harm,” Hawke whispered, placing his hand on Maxwell’s shoulder. The Inquisitor turned his head slightly to look at him. When had this gesture become so comforting?

“I am here to help you,” the woman continued, and Maxwell had to return staring at her. Help sounded good. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Ashes, Inquisitor.” Ah, so she was addressing him directly. The Herald strained his ears.

“Did you take my memories?” he asked.

The woman shook her head. “No. You lost them to the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” She turned around, and Maxwell followed her eyes to see the vortex they’d been originally heading to. He swallowed a lump that was forming in his throat.

“It’s there? By the rift?” he asked.

“This place of Darkness is its lair,” she confirmed. “The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work. The Nightmare serves willingly to Corypheus, for he has brought much terror to this world.”

“Good thing we are here, then,” Alistair noted, words full of anger. “We deal with it, and Wardens are back to normal. Wait… wouldn’t that mean they are trying to summon the Nightmare right now?”

“We need to kill it, real fast,” Maxwell caught his drift. He bowed his head slightly at the woman. “Thanks. We’ll be on our way.”

“Wait,” she asked quietly. He stopped mid step. “When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.”

The Inquisitor scowled; he’d thought he’d get his memories back upon the demon’s death. Was she implying he could do it before facing it?

“How so?” he asked.

The woman raised her hand in the direction of the vortex. “You will meet the lost parts of you on your way. Collect them, and you will rediscover the events you have forgotten. It may help you fight against the Nightmare.”

“I… thanks,” was all Maxwell could muster. If he was completely honest with himself, he’d expected her to ask for something in return for useful information, but as soon as the woman was done talking, she fell silent. When the group started moving forward, she disappeared.

The following minutes blended into a single long line as the Herald made his best to track his every lost memory. As the woman had said, they were scattered ahead, locked in green puffs of light that resembled smaller spirits, only unmoving and non-hostile. Maxwell moved from one to another, and each time he touched a spirit, a part of his past returned to his memory, clicking with the ones that had already been there. One after another, they formed the whole picture of what had happened at the Conclave.

The main thought after that was:

_I didn’t kill her._

The Divine, Maxwell realized, had been captured in a mess that had been caused by no one else than the Elder God himself. The Herald-to-be had been involved too, but that had only happened because of his desire to help the woman who’d been in danger. He’d grabbed Corypheus’s orb, obtained the mark and-

 ** _“Some foolish little boy comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from his shoulders,”_** a voice thundered, destroying his concentration. The Nightmare, it must have been it. Why hadn’t it attacked the group earlier if it had been aware of their arrival? **_”You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You should have let yourself be altered.”_**

_Altered…?_

“Do not listen to it,” Solas said. “It knows we are coming, and it will try playing tricks on your mind.”

There was a second of deadly silence, and then the Nightmare laughed, loud sound rumbling through thick air and reflecting from slippery giant rocks and stones.

 ** _“Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal_** ** _enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din,_** ** _”_** were the words that followed. Maxwell didn’t get any of it.

“Banal nadas,” Solas answered, and he didn’t get any of it, either.

“What on Thedas are they talking about?” Hawke asked the Inquisitor, though Maxwell supposed the question was rhetorical. He supposed he could ask the elf for an explanation… but the demon began talking again.

**_“Did you think you mattered, Hawke?”_ **

The Champion all but jumped on his spot. “No way,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous.

**_“Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.”_ **

And there it was again, the intense rumble of the demon’s laughter, but Maxwell hardly paid any attention to it.

 _The locket,_ he thought. _Hawke said it was… heavy._

“Your family…” he choked out, tongue leaden in his mouth. “They’re dead...”

“Yeah,” the Champion nodded. “And we’ll join them if we lose our guard.” He was sounding so serious now. The Herald had never seen him like this before… he guessed the demon had crossed the line there. Of course it had.

Unfortunately, it continued.

**_“How are your friends doing, Hawke? Has any of them looked for you after what you did?”_ **

“Oh, look, I’m his favorite,” Hawke snorted humorlessly.

“Come on, you know it’s lying,” Varric grunted right after. “Let’s make sure Smiley dies in pain, and then I’ll put it in my new book in as much detail as I can.”

 ** _“Oh, how can I deny you the fun,”_** the demon said, and the next thing Maxwell saw was a giant spider suddenly descending from nowhere. It was ugly and rapid, and the moment its legs hit the ground, the earth shook, vibrations going up the Inquisitor’s feet. A lesser figure came into view, one that undoubtedly commanded it. The Nightmare demon.

“Maker’s breath…” Alistair breathed out. “You are the one… You made us do…”

 ** _“I am the Veiled hand of Corypheus himself!”_** the demon roared, and as it did, countless little spiders gathered around it. **_“The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all though me!”_**

“Ah, so if we banish you, we banish the demons?” a familiar voice interrupted, and Maxwell looked up to see… the Divine? Some other form of her, floating over the ground, vigorous like a ray of sun. Behind her was the rift he and others had been searching for.

The group hesitated. Despite being tempted by a clear path, they still had the demon to defeat, and a giant spider with a horde of smaller ones along with it. The Nightmare hissed, and spiders started crawling towards them, definitely up for a fresh meal. Maxwell raised his hand to his sword, and his companions got ready to fight too, but before they were able to do anything, the Divine moved. She was shining even brighter now when she turned to look at the Inquisitor.

“If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I’m sorry. I failed you too’,” the woman said. The light was so overwhelming it threatened to blind Maxwell and everyone else, and they had no other option but to cover their eyes as the Divine flew right into the demon.

There was a loud screech, and then the light disappeared, leaving the Fade as it had been before: dim, foggy and sinister. The worst thing was that the giant spider and the Nightmare demon ended up mostly unharmed. The Divine had had enough power to only get rid of the smaller ones.

“It is too strong,” Solas said unsteadily. “In fact, I don’t think any of us can defeat it. Only…” He flashed a look at the Champion. “You can. Possibly.”

_What…? What is he talking about-?_

Maxwell blinked, eyes coming to rest on Hawke. The man just stood there with his eyebrows lowered, calculating. It felt like a century had passed before he finally answered.

“I’m staying. You should escape while you still can.”

“What?!” the Inquisitor blurted.

“Are you kidding me?!” Varric followed. “You can’t do anything to-”

“I can,” Hawke cut him off and sighed. “…I can. I’m capable of defeating this thing, but if you stay, you will perish together with us. I can’t do this to any of you.”

He looked right at Maxwell, and at this moment part of the Herald hoped Hawke would start laughing or shrug it off, or… something! There had to be something!

“You need to return to the outside and stop Corypheus. Worry about that,” the Champion said, and then turned to the Nightmare demon. It was waiting for them, hungry and possibly feeding from the surge of fear Maxwell was now feeling in his bones. The Inquisitor did not care.

“Hawke, let me stay. You know I can help,” he asked desperately. Almost begged. “We can do it together, we’re a good team, I-”

“Sorry. You’re the one who needs out of here most,” the Champion refused, facing away from him. “Varric? Be a good friend, take him away before this place goes down.”

“Hawke-”

“I mean it,” the man pressed. “The Inquisitor is the only one who can defeat Corypheus. People need him more than anything.”

“But what about you?! I-” the dwarf tried only to be interrupted.

“Me...? Heh. Hehehe…” Laughter was grim as death. Hawke’s shoulders trembled. “You heard that thing. It’s right. Fenris hates me. Anders won’t ever talk to me. My family is dead.”

“You still have me! And the Inquisitor, didn’t you say you want him as a friend-!”

“Exactly,” the Champion agreed. “And I need my friends safe. Now stop arguing and get out of here. We don’t have much time.”

“No.”

It was only one word, but Maxwell had made his decision. He stepped forward.

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not letting go-”

“Maxwell,” Hawke cut in, sounding on edge. Hearing his own name from the Champion’s lips made the Herald freeze. “When you get back to Skyhold, I want you to go to the box you keep letters in. I left you a message.”

“I… I-” the man stuttered.

“Now go, because I am about to perform a blood ritual your Grey Warden bastards can only dream of.”

“You’re… a blood mage?” Cassandra gasped. Beside her, Alistair lowered his head in shame.

“Yeah, and I don’t usually talk about it, but I’m about to die here,” Hawke said. “Can you all just disappear through the rift please? The demon looks like it’s fed up with us. I don’t want to _make_ you leave.”

Maxwell felt Cassandra’s fingers clasp around his wrist again. He struggled to set free because how dared anyone decide it for him?! Hawke was his friend, Hawke wanted to protect him, Hawke was going to die-

He’d thought Varric would help, and the dwarf did want to, but they were only two men, and the rest of the group opted to obey the Champion’s last will. They thought they were making the right choice – Maker, they probably were, but…

_But Hawke will die, and I won’t ever see him again, and he’s a blood mage, but who cares…_

“Hawke,” Maxwell begged, attempts at getting away fruitless.

There, right in front of him, the Champion was holding his daggers. He raised his hands to his own body and started cutting everywhere, blood oozing from the wounds, both old and new. That was how it had always been, why Hawke had always been wounded. All that damage, it hadn’t been inflicted by his enemies. It was Hawke himself who’d done that.

Blood was changing; it slid up and down the Champion’s body, armoring him, trying to protect him from what was about to come. Maxwell thrashed about, losing his last bits of energy to get closer.

“Hawke!” he cried, reaching out.

And the man flinched as if he’d just awakened, and he allowed himself to turn around one last time, eyes red and moist. He smiled. Broadly, like before.

Maxwell fainted.


	17. Chapter 17

There was nothing but darkness, poisonous and omnipotent as it devoured him whole and without mercy. The human’s body was limp and motionless, but in his mind countless fragments of memories were burning like a wildfire: messy black hair battling against the man’s fingers as he struggled to put them down, dark eyes gleaming with mischief when the man was up to something rebellious, firm hand when the man put it on the Herald’s shoulder. In Maxwell’s head, a single word prevailed, circling his consciousness in a chant that never ended.

_Hawke, Hawke, Hawke…_

Despite its nature, the darkness was comforting. Or maybe it was Maxwell that didn’t need to wake up anymore, so he accepted it as his guardian, forever. He opened his eyes and opened his heart, and there was nothing he could offer or demand in return. The darkness had him, and he had the darkness, there was nothing more to that.

_Hawke_

He was descending, but he wasn’t afraid.

 _“Somebody! We need help!”_ a voice shouted somewhere far, far away. It was so small and unimportant that Maxwell let it fly off even farther, not bothering to reach it. He inhaled shakily, new pictures of the man leaking into his pupils as he subsided.

_“He’s still breathing! Someone, please! Solas!”_

_“I’m here. Turn him around.”_

Cuts and bruises were scattered around the man’s body, bleeding without stop. It was his last line of defense, his deadliest weapon and his dreadful secret. It was the only way he could protect Maxwell when time came.

_“Cullen!”_

_“Cassandra? What on- Maker’s breath! Inquisitor!”_

The voices were persistent, lurking on the outside of the world Maxwell was resting in. They talked and talked and talked and interfered with his thoughts, making them twitch and waver like old planks under the overpowering wind. He shuddered, wishing to make the pictures clearer.

_“He’s dying! We need to do something right now, or we’ll lose him!”_

_“We can’t let him die, I… We need…”_

And then silence, finally, something he welcomed with eagerness. He was so pleased he wanted to smile, but his lips wouldn’t obey him and move.

 _This is okay,_ he thought. _Right, Hawke?_

 _“We need lyrium,”_ a voice decided, desperate, ruining the peace once more.

_“Lyrum? Cullen, we can’t give him lyrium, he’s suffered from it long enough-!”_

_“Well, I can’t see any other way!”_ The interruption was loud - a surge of wind that disturbed the man’s face and made it fluid like water. Why, why couldn’t the voices just vanish into thin air?

_“He is correct. Bring lyrium, as much of it as you can. This is worse than before. His chances of survival are very low.”_

_“Hang in there… please, hang in there…”_

He felt warmth on his neck, and then it traveled to his shoulder and partially to his back. His position changed slightly, but that didn’t mean anything. Warmth was a good addition to his newfound infinity, nothing else mattered... He succumbed.

_“Here, this should be enough. Open his mouth.”_

_“Come on, Maxwell, you need to drink this…”_

A flash of blue rushed from above like lightning, missed Maxwell and disappeared into the darkness – all in a split second. He squinted his eyes shut, groaning in frustration. That had been completely unnecessary.

 _“One more!”_ a voice ordered.

_“No, we should wait, it doesn’t work like this-”_

_“Believe me, I know **perfectly** how it works, I’m a former templar!”_

Moments later, another flash appeared, and this time it hit inches away from Maxwell’s body. He gasped, trying to shield himself with his hands, but they didn’t listen. Calmness drew away, and no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t reach out and grasp it.

_“One more!”_

_“Stop, you’ll kill him!”_

_“He’s dead if lyrium fails, we don’t have a choice!”_

_“Cullen-”_

_“No! I can’t lose him! I’m not losing him!”_

Darkness hissed around him, clawing at his legs, his arms, his head. It didn’t want to leave him, its only resident, its only treasure.

 _Cullen…? Who’s Cullen?_ Maxwell wondered and tried to recall, but there was nothing but emptiness in his mind now, even those reflections he had of the black-haired man had escaped. When he realized it, he froze, scared and insecure.

 _Hawke… Where are you?_ Maxwell called.

_“Just do it, he’s not waking up! I can’t let him die!”_

_“Okay, okay… Here goes. Maker, help him, please…”_

The third flash of lightning hit him directly, and darkness howled, letting go of him at once. It was replaced by light - bright blue rays that pierced Maxwell and robbed him of his balance, his stillness and his quietude. These were peeled away like layers and left the human bare; naked in front of danger that struck him again and again until he screamed in agony.

***

Maxwell inhaled loudly and jerked up. People around him leaned back simultaneously, and he gaped at them, trying to understand what was happening. His eyes traveled rapidly from one face to another, to a pale, horrified woman with short black hair, to a shivering body of a dwarf that was sobbing a few feet away, to a concerned elf with a wooden box in his arms, to a blonde man that was holding him close.

There was a hand on his arm, and there was one pressed to his chest - both belonged to the man. Maxwell glanced at them briefly before returning his attention to their owner. He opened his mouth and wanted say something but didn’t know what exactly.

“M-Ma… I-inquisitor,” the man choked out, his expression drenched with worry. “How are you feeling?”

If everyone had been silent before, now it felt like the world itself decided to halt and catch a breath. Maxwell scowled, reaching inside his thoughts like a fisher, ready to grab his first slippery prey.

The water was empty.

“Who... Who are you?” he asked.

***

Blackness retreated, releasing Maxwell once more from his unconscious state. He tried to stir but was unable to do so, wasn’t even able to open his eyes. Someone was half-carrying, half-dragging him - Maxwell could feel his feet trailing along the ground, leaving two distinct lines on the sand behind.

“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening…” a voice was whispering somewhere in close proximity to his ear.

“Calm down, Cullen. We do not know for sure.”

He was being held by two people; judging by voices, one was a man – the one on his right. The other one, on his left, was a woman with an accent he was certain he’d heard somewhere before.

“He fainted again right after he saw me,” the man muttered. “He was so scared, Maker’s breath, so scared – and he didn’t recognize me…”

“I don’t think he recognized any of us,” the woman said. “Still, this may be a temporary… problem. I hope. He may remember us the next time he wakes up.”

Neither added anything for a long time. Maxwell let them carry his body even though he didn’t understand what was going on. He simply couldn’t do better: his head was working awfully slow, simplest concepts all wobbly and vague and unfinished.

Soon Maxwell grew tired, and the warmth the two bodies shared with his made him sleepy. As he was letting himself fade away, he heard the woman saying:

“He is _not dead_.”

***

Next time Maxwell came to, he was lying on a comfortable wide seat of a carriage. His mind was disobedient, but he recalled it being the same carriage he’d arrived in. To somewhere. As he struggled to get an idea of what was happening, he saw two people sitting on the other side: a man with blonde hair and a deep frown on his face – _Cullen,_ his memory supported – and a black-haired woman with a long scar on her cheek – _Cassandra_. Maxwell knew them from somewhere, but he didn’t know from where precisely.

Both were watching him closely, hesitant to start talking. On the contrary, it seemed like they were expecting him to do it, waiting for him to acknowledge them – after all, these two must have been those who’d carried him all the way to the carriage. Not to mention Cullen was the one that held Maxwell when he’d first woken up. Maxwell let his eyes slip shut for a few seconds before attempting to speak. When he did, his voice was hoarse.

“I remember you…  I think,” he managed, opening his eyes again to watch their faces. “You’re Cullen, and you’re Cassandra. That’s… all I can say for now. Sorry.”

Despite his inability to provide more, both the man and the woman let out almost inaudible sighs of relief. They shared a quick glance, a nod, and then Cassandra spoke.

“That’s a start. We were worried you wouldn’t remember.”

“Is there anything else you can say?” Cullen asked nervously. Maxwell allowed himself to take a moment for an attempt at gathering his scattered bits of knowledge.

 _I don’t know why, but I think I care about you,_ he came to a weak conclusion.

“I’ve been to this carriage before,” the man said. “I think we were traveling to some place… not sure, where.”

“Yes, to the Adamant Fortress,” Cassandra confirmed. “Do you remember the battle?”

Cullen flashed her a displeased look. “Isn’t it a bit too early for that,” he said.

There weren’t any pictures connected to any battles in Maxwell’s head. He did recall a fortress with the name of Adamant, but that was all he could muster. Maybe he didn’t need to rush things: after all, his memory was rebuilding itself, and he was still tired and mostly unable to feel anything.

_Dark eyes. Ruffled black hair._

“I don’t know about the fortress,” he muttered. “But I know Solas doesn’t like tea.”

“So you remember Solas?” Cassandra asked.

_Blood destined to protect._

“I don’t know,” Maxwell whispered, his eyelids suddenly too heavy for him to keep them open. “I need more sleep. We should talk later.”

His consciousness didn’t wait for an answer. It locked the man in a dreamless sleep once again to continue restoring him piece by piece.

***

When Maxwell woke up, first thing he met was a familiar ceiling. He knew only one ceiling of the sort, and it belonged to his chamber, so he must have returned to Skyhold while he’d been unconscious.

The man blinked and sat up, arms and legs pointing out as he stretched lazily. Maxwell felt surprisingly well-rested and even hungry…

“Drink this,” someone offered, and the Herald turned to look at the visitor.

“Good morning, Solas,” he said, watching as the elf approached the bed with a steaming mug in his hands. Maxwell lifted his both and took the offered drink.

“It is almost evening,” the elf answered, sitting down on a chair beside the bed. He pointed at the mug. “Do you remember what this is?”

“This? This is some kind of herbal tea you always make me drink,” Maxwell shrugged. “I’ve never asked you what it’s made of, but I can show you the bottles if you ask me to.”

“Good,” Solas nodded. “Let’s try something more complicated then. Who are you?”

Maxwell lowered an eyebrow.

“My name is Maxwell Trevelyan,” he said. “I am the Inquisitor, and some people believe I’m also the Herald of Andraste. I have a demon rotting inside me, the Anchor, two close friends-”

He trailed off.

_Hawke._

“…one,” the man corrected himself. His hands started to shake, nearly letting go of the mug he was holding. Solas seemed to notice the change because he hurried to take it away. “Solas, I… Where is Hawke? Is he… dead?” The last word was impossibly hard to force out.

“I will not lie to you,” the elf said. “I believe he is. The demon army is non-existent, which must be the result of the Nightmare demon’s death. The Champion knew only one way to end its reign, and he followed it.”

Maxwell felt his eyes burn. He raised a hand to cover them.

“Is there any chance he… could survive?”

“I doubt that,” Solas shook his head. “I am sorry, but this is for the better. Even if he did survive the battle, he would still be locked up in the Fade and die of dehydration or hunger. Beaten to death by the demons, perhaps. Alone. Would you prefer that death to a quicker one, a death he was happy with because he knew he was protecting you?”

_Please, stop it. It hurts._

“…no,” Maxwell answered after a long moment. He dropped his shoulders and exhaled, doing his best not to burst into tears right there. “I just… I need hope…”

“I understand.”

The Herald fell silent; he would simply break if he tried pushing the subject further. Each breath he was taking was a torture, a nightmare stronger than all those he had when he’d been asleep. He’d thought it wouldn’t get worse. He’d been mistaken.

The elf watched him, mug secure in his thin hands. Maxwell couldn’t see his face but wouldn’t look up no matter what, not with all the weight of his emotions. It took nearly a minute for Solas to understand he was nowhere near calming down.

“I should tell you about what happened at the Adamant Fortress,” the elf began. It was obviously an attempt at distracting the Inquisitor’s attention from his loss, and even realizing that, Maxwell grasped it. “When we emerged from the rift, you were mostly unconscious. I raised your hand, and the Anchor worked. We sealed the rift like we used to a long time ago - our first time, if you remember.”

Maxwell managed a nod.

“You were on the brink of death, Inquisitor,” Solas went on. “There was only one way to save you, and we had to use it.”

“…lyrium,” the Herald guessed. His liveliness was no longer a mystery. All the need and frustration he’d had to go through were for nothing.

“Yes,” the elf agreed. “Therefore, we are in a rather complicated situation right now. If you continue to take lyrium, your memories will become fainter until they all disappear. If you do not take it, your mental health will continue to suffer until you break, and that will eventually lead you to another life threatening experience. I am not certain you will be able to survive it.”

Maxwell nodded again, faintly.

“Did you see the demon?” he asked.

“…no. I did not. Neither did Cole, as I failed to reach him.”

“So… I have to choose between death and memory loss,” the Inquisitor summed up in a weak voice. Honestly, he didn’t really care at this point. Vivid and colorful, endless images of Hawke and their past moments together refused to disperse and made the present day seem grey, dull and needless.

“This choice may be of a temporary sort,” Solas noted. “There is still a possibility of curing you, Inquisitor. Do not consider this a lost cause.” Saying so, the elf offered the mug to Maxwell again. The Herald took it without objections and emptied it in a few large gulps; thankfully, the drink wasn’t so hot anymore. Smooth liquid ran down the man’s throat, and his breath became a little softer.

“What of the Wardens?” he asked.

“The Grey Wardens are waiting for the advisors’ decision,” Solas said, taking the mug back. He placed it on the bed table and straightened up, hands resting on his knees. “They do not yet know if they want help from the guilty. After all, the Wardens are responsible for the Divine’s death.”

The Inquisitor hummed absently, watching the blanket. He was listening to the elf with half an ear, thoughts slowly drifting back to the Fade and the one he’d left there. The past was too powerful to be ignored for long. Maxwell sighed.

“Solas,” he called quietly. The elf looked up. “There is a small box with letters on my table. Can you please bring it to me?”

Wordlessly, Solas stood up and went to fetch the object; he must have been waiting for the Herald to ask for it. As soon as the elf was back, he handed the box to Maxwell and sat down on his chair, expression cautious. Maxwell wondered if Solas was expecting yet another burst of emotions from him, if that was the reason of why he and not someone else was beside him now.

The box was cool to the touch, with small round carvings that distantly reminded the Herald of Hawke’s locket. Tenderly, the man rubbed his fingers against the surface until his thumb slid down to pop the lock open.

“You need to be careful, Inquisitor,” Solas said, but Maxwell only stared down into the box. There it was, a folded white sheet of paper lying on top of the others. Hawke must have placed it there while the Herald had been preparing to head out to Adamant. Maxwell felt his fingertips tremble.

 _This is it, this is the last thing,_ he told himself. _After this, there will be nothing._

He took the letter out and turned it around to see three words on the other side.

_Please, read this._

Maxwell knew the handwriting. Small and almost unreadable, yet he was somehow able to swallow the words one after another. He unfolded the paper and met the first line.

_Hello, Maxwell. I’m leaving this letter to you in case I don’t come ba_

“No…” the Herald whispered, tears rushing back to his eyes with a force he could barely hold against. This- reading this, it was difficult. Maxwell had never been scared of anything so much before. Beside him, Solas clasped his fingers together.

“I am sorry,” he said. “If you can’t deal with it now, maybe you should wait-”

“No,” the man repeated, this time a bit steadier. “I need to read it, I know I do… I just…”

He sighed, trying to calm himself down. Then he returned to the paper.

_Hello, Maxwell. I’m leaving this letter to you in case I don’t come back. I’m bad at writing stuff and would rather tell everything to your face, but to be honest, I… I’m afraid to do so. Yes, I can actually feel fear, believe it or not. Heh._

_I know that if I survive, I’ll try to hide everything behind that carefree mask of mine again. It’s safer that way because if you don’t know anything, you won’t want to push me away._

_Yet if I die… I want you to know something I don’t tell just anyone. I tried to, once, and lost almost everything I had. My beloved girl and my friends… they abandoned me. This is why opening to people scares me so much. I feel hurt when I’m rejected, and it hurts even more when it’s done by someone I care about._

_I care about you a lot, Maxwell._

The Herald’s breath hitched, and his tears started to gather once more. This time, he didn’t move to brush them off.

_I don’t know what will happen at Adamant, but I hope… I hope so much… that you won’t find out about my ugly side by witnessing it. I don’t want to turn around and look at you and see disgust and hate in your eyes. Maxwell, if you reject me for who I am, I don’t know how I will be able to function._

There was an empty space below the line, and on the right side of the paper were a few spots of ink, crossed with many short lines. The place where Hawke must have pressed the tip of his quill when he’d been thinking about what to write. How to do it.

_I guess I should already tell you. There’s no point in making you wait. So… if you don’t find out before I die, then…_

_I am a blood mage, Maxwell. I am a blood mage, and that’s not pretty at all._

_My former friends, I told them. Some turned their backs on me, some tried to accept me. Still, in the past… something awful happened, and I made a mistake that cost me everything. I used my magic to control people. A lot of them… Tried that on my friends as well when I thought they would betray me._

_That’s inhuman. I understand. Even Varric can’t forgive me for what I did, though he tries and supports me. I guess I should be grateful for that: after all, he’s the only one who stayed beside me. But I keep seeing sadness in his eyes, and it kills me. No matter how hard I try to smile and make things better each single day, it won’t work. I can’t undo the damage._

Next sentence was crossed and beyond recognizing.  Then:

_If you still remember me warmly by the time you finish reading this letter, then all this despair and ill luck weren’t for nothing. You know, I actually think I’m cursed... But who cares, I deserve it. Anyway…_

_I want you to know that I never used any magic on you, nor I used it on anyone else who didn’t want me dead. With you, I think, it was a second chance. I saw something in you when we first met, something so overwhelming it sent my composure into chaos right away._

Their first meeting - when they bumped into each other, Maxwell remembered. Hawke had apologized and hurried away in the direction he’d come from, leaving the Herald confused. He’d bumped into an elf girl next…

Maxwell’s fingers tensed, wrinkling the paper.

_I felt we were alike. Didn’t think you were a blood mage but knew something equally exhausting was pushing down on you. Since then, I wanted to meet you. I asked Varric about you, and he told me what little he knew._

_And I just… decided to give it a go. I was as alive as a walking corpse, and a new friend, one that would not only know nothing of my past, but also be a little like me… it sounded like something that would help me resurrect myself._

_So I helped you fight against Corypheus and made it sound like my failure was the only reason. Well… I’m trying to atone, yes, but the real source is my selfishness. I want your friendship, Maxwell. I want to help you and I want to gain your trust and make you like me so that one day I can tell you everything and not risk losing you._

_Except your reading this letter means I’m dead, so… yeah. Tough luck._

There was a large empty space below and another set of small ink spots, lines and circles. And in the very end of the paper was one last, short line:

_Please, accept me. I’m begging you._

Maxwell let out a strangled cry. His shoulders shook uncontrollably as he lowered the letter – the end, the very end of his friendship with Hawke - not because he despised the man or wanted him gone, no, he wanted him back so much, to talk to him and laugh with him and tell him everything was fine. Tell him that he _was_ accepted. But there was no way now because Hawke wasn’t coming back.

“Auughhh... Haw-gghhh…” Maxwell choked out, releasing the letter as he brought his hands up to cover his eyes. The paper fell down on the blanket and was soon joined by other white sheets that flew out of the box when the Herald lifted his knees abruptly. Solas was at his side on instant, and the man grabbed his arms and pulled him down until his face was pressed into the elf’s shoulder. Maxwell didn’t let go of him for a long time.

***

Time had passed – how much, Maxwell wasn’t sure. The sun had already settled, and first stars were starting to show in the night sky, one by one, peeking into the Herald’s chamber from behind thin clouds. The man, as before, was lying motionlessly in his bed. The box with letters was resting on his bed table, full and closed.

Solas had run off at some point, likely to get more herbs for the next round of medicine. He’d been quieter than usual ever since Maxwell had had a breakdown - the unexpected physical contact it included must’ve had something to do with that. The elf hadn’t been able to free himself from Maxwell’s clutch until the Inquisitor was at least partially pacified. Gradually, the man’s sobs ceased, and he allowed Solas to put him back down. It had been the first and only time when Maxwell cried in front of someone, and if his state hadn’t been a mess, he would’ve scolded himself.

He’d dozed off after and was plagued by obscure dreams that escaped him as soon as he woke up. Solas was nowhere to be seen.

Now the man was simply lying limp under the blanket, listening to distant voices, occasional laughs and whistles that were flying into his chamber from outside. The pain had somewhat subsided, yet the pictures had not; they still danced right in front of him, preventing Maxwell from relaxing into the warmth of his bed. At least he wasn’t crying… yet. The medicine he’d taken before seemed to be wearing off.

A sudden burst of laughter came from the courtyard and made the man shudder as he was once again hit by a vivid image of his dead friend. Slowly, he sat up.

_I can’t take this anymore._

He needed out of the chamber. Solas hadn’t left a message saying when he’d return, and Maxwell felt like his invalid defense would kick the bucket any second now. Maybe talking to someone would help.

First thought and option was the Commander. Maxwell hadn’t seen him since the carriage - there had to be a reason for that, but the Herald was done breaking his head before talking. Besides, he had been asleep earlier, and maybe Cullen had chosen that time precisely to show up. Or maybe Solas told everyone to keep away in order to check the Inquisitor’s health first because he hadn’t exactly seen anyone other than the elf.

Varric was the second option, and Maxwell crossed him off the list immediately: he was a close friend of Hawke’s, and that meant he was mourning too, maybe as bad as the Herald himself. While Maxwell did think mourning together would make it easier for both of them, he was afraid Varric would start talking about the Champion’s past. If that happened, he’d most definitely lose it again. A no go.

The third option was… well, anyone. Even Sera would do – actually, Sera would do best with her cheerful nature and simplicity. And Maryden had to be working at this hour – whatever hour it was - so that would add good music to the background. Maybe she’d be kind and allow Maxwell to sing along… Good distraction.

Maxwell shifted his body to the edge of the bed and brought his feet to the cool floor, flinching when they met. He was partially naked, but new clothes had to be waiting for him in the wardrobe: his servants always made sure their Inquisitor was ready for everything - from breakfast to war.

As soon as he dressed up, he was gone. The door closed behind the man with a soft click, and he went down the corridor, offering a short greeting to everyone he met - didn’t really want to, but it was a status necessity. Thankfully, the main hall was almost empty, and no one called out to him.

_Alright. Time to decide._

Maxwell instantly directed his steps to the doorway for the western part of the castle.

Solas’s workplace on the first floor of the tower was empty, and Maxwell didn’t bother looking for the elf in his private room. Instead, he let his feet carry him through the hall and down the small corridor until he exited to the battlements. There, the Herald was promptly surrounded by fresh air and couldn’t help breathing in deep, soaking in all peace and safety of the night that dawned upon Skyhold. For a moment, it even covered the pain.

Apart from guards, there were a few people wandering around in the fortress. Maxwell threw a glance at the courtyard below and spotted Bull and the members of his small mercenary family moving towards the tavern. He briefly wondered where they were returning from because their shoulders were dropped, and they looked unusually sullen.

Morrigan and Alistair had picked themselves a bench amidst already sleeping plants and flowers and were now talking without looking at each other, the air between them so tense Maxwell could almost see it from where he was unintentionally spying. A boy whom he’d never seen ran up to them, and the Warden straightened up in shock. The Inquisitor scowled, a little concerned, but didn’t linger on the same spot. The air was getting colder, and Maxwell was starting to shiver, so he had to resume walking. If any of his allies needed help, they’d come and tell him about it later.

The way to Cullen’s small tower wasn’t very long, fortunately, and soon the man found himself reaching out to grab the door handle. He touched it and squeezed it, and then hesitated. Maxwell hadn’t a slightest idea of what he would say when he met the Commander. If he had to say anything at all.

 _I guess I’ll just do what feels right,_ the Herald decided after getting a particularly strong blow of chilly wind into his back. He turned the handle and opened the door, peeking inside before entering.

The room was lit by a lonely torch: the flame was a dance that lighted all the objects in a way that made them throw large and trembling shadows onto everything within their reach. No one was in here, and that had to mean the Commander was either upstairs and asleep, or somewhere else. Having no desire to disturb the guards outside any further, Maxwell invited himself in and closed the door. Shadows calmed down.

A few sealed envelopes were resting on the Commander’s table and sparked the Inquisitor’s interest, but the man chose to ignore them and stepped directly to the ladder. He touched it with both hands and raised his head to witness how mercilessly the moonlight was piercing the air through numerous gaps in the wooden ceiling. Cullen should have gotten it fixed long ago.

He started to climb and only stopped when his eyes reached the floor level. As soon as Maxwell was able to distinguish in the dark, he saw a black shape rising from the Commander’s bed. His throat dried up.

“Commander…?” he called.

The shape didn’t answer, but when it got under the pale light from above and stopped moving, the Inquisitor recognized his friend at once. Cullen was wide awake and dressed in a plain shirt. His breath was unsteady.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted in a pinched voice.

“Yes.”

Maxwell finished getting up but halted by the ladder, uncertain of what to do next. The Commander wasn’t hurrying to utter anything else despite having made sure Maxwell was the one he was talking to. The Herald fidgeted; he supposed he’d been waiting for Cullen to take steps here.

“I’m a bit nervous here, if you’re concerned,” he said. “Is there a reason you’re so quiet after all that happened? Have you been to my chamber while I was out cold?”

The Commander winced, and Maxwell swallowed, wondering if he’d hit a sore spot.

“You… really recognize me?” Cullen asked, hands gripping the blanket.

_Ah. So that’s what it is about._

“You haven’t visited me, have you?” Maxwell quirked an eyebrow.

“What? Of course I have!” the Commander argued. He was sounding more like his usual self now, warmed up and persistent. “Solas allowed me to come see you when you were asleep but didn’t let me stay for long. He said you needed seclusion.”

“Seclusion,” Maxwell repeated.

“I don’t know, but I’d obey anything that promised me a chance of getting your memories back,” Cullen went on. “Have you any idea what it feels like to be entirely forgotten by someone you care about? Especially when said someone keeps calling another man’s name in his sleep. Which, by some miracle, he hasn’t forgotten.”

“What-? I kept calling for Hawke?”

The Commander let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah… Yeah, you did.” He dropped his chin, and the movement made him look so defeated that Maxwell felt a pang of guilt. He shifted from one foot to another, reluctant to act- what was he supposed to do in such situation?

Had he really not forgotten Hawke? Had Hawke been the only one…?

“You kept calling for him all the time after we’d made you take lyrium. I guess the Fade… hit you hard enough,” Cullen finished, releasing the blanket and bringing his hands together. His fingers formed a lock.

“I guess it did,” the Herald agreed.

Unpleasant tension unraveled and spread around them, depriving them of mobility like it was a cold coating of resin. Maxwell waited, and Cullen waited too, neither brave enough to speak up. Then the Inquisitor moved, and it did feel like he had his feet stuck in hardened goo.

_We’ve been here before. I don’t want to repeat._

He approached the bed and placed a knee on its edge, the mattress creaking weakly under the weight. The sound had to have reached the Commander’s ears, but the man just continued sitting there as if he was completely stunned. Maxwell let this unexpected lack of response slip and climbed on the bed, careful and a little scared, but determined nonetheless. He reached his friend and covered his intertwined fingers with his right palm - it was meant to be a soothing gesture, yet the Commander only exhaled a trapped, shivering breath. His hands were shaking.

“I’m not replacing you,” Maxwell whispered, trying to reassure him. “There is no man, or woman, or whatever it is you can name, that is capable of becoming what you are to me.”

The Commander managed a nod but otherwise didn’t look really convinced. The Inquisitor touched his shoulder with the other hand, the Anchor buzzing but not harmful against the white cloth, and pushed, asking Cullen to lie back down. The man obeyed, hesitantly, and when his back pressed against the mattress, Maxwell leaned down to kiss him.

If words didn’t work, this had to. It had always worked before…

Except not today. Cullen did start to answer, but the way he acted screamed fear and unwillingness. The Herald had never seen him like that.

 _Maybe he’s afraid of taking this further, I can guess how intimidating this looks…_ he suspected, doubted, and wanted to prove. Maxwell’s hands slid down the man’s sides, lingering on his hips and catching the waistband of his pants. He let himself lie on top of Cullen, and as soon as he did so, he realized how bad the situation actually was: the Commander was shivering violently under him, warm and unresisting, and he was breathing erratically. Panicking…?

Maxwell wasn’t exactly experienced, and he knew that neither was Cullen. Maker, they were on the same step here. After months of knowing the Commander Maxwell had thought he was as courageous inside as he was on the outside.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, kissing the corner of Cullen’s lips, then his cheek. “It’s me. I mean no harm. I only want to show you how special you are.”

“I-Inquisitor…” Cullen groaned, and his hands began moving too, traveling from Maxwell’s arms to his shoulders and then down to his chest.

“Good,” Maxwell whispered with a smile and lowered his head to kiss the Commander’s neck, tongue eager to lick and teeth ready to gift soft bites if the man decided to.

“Inquisitor…”

“Yes,” Maxwell gave in and bit, just slightly. Cullen hissed, and his chin jerked up, allowing more space; he was still shivering, but at this point the Herald was beyond caring. He relaxed and let go, pulling up the hem of Cullen’s shirt, desperate to touch his skin. The mark on his palm came to life, lighting them both with unnatural green glow.

“I can’t-”

The Inquisitor was so absorbed by his desire he failed to notice that the hands that had been pressing to his chest were not pressing to it because the Commander wanted to hold him close. They were pushing him away instead, and if there hadn’t been much strength applied to them before, now it rose to a rather high level.

When Maxwell caught up with reality, he was sitting in front of Cullen, kept at his arm’s length. He tried to move forward, but the Commander didn’t allow him.

“Cullen…?” The Herald’s voice was thick with want. “Why are we stopping?”

The Commander’s grip on his arms became quite painful.

“I... I can’t-” he mumbled, breath hitching in his throat. “I’m so sorry, I can’t…”

“You can’t…?”

Suddenly, Maxwell was afraid too. What did he mean ‘he can’t’? From what the Inquisitor observed and felt while they’d been at it, Cullen wanted this as much as he did, wasn’t that right…? He _had_ been shivering, but… that was from being uncertain, wasn’t it?

He was starting to get a horrible, horrible idea.

“So…” Maxwell trailed off and swallowed a lump in his throat. This had to be a joke. “What is going on? Are you scared?”

He waited for an answer, as confident as a cornered halla, but Cullen wouldn’t answer. He didn’t even raise his eyes to look Maxwell in the face.

“Okay…” the Herald felt his heart starting to pick up speed. “Okay, you’re totally scared. Of what? Is it me, you, or all… this?” He pointed between them with a nervous gesture.

The Commander’s response was a faint shrug Maxwell was lucky to notice, all thanks to the Anchor nailed to his hand. If he thought about it, the only problem Cullen would feel embarrassed to talk about, would be, well, getting intimate. Now when desire had retreated, the Inquisitor was feeling undeniably awkward as well, to say the least.

“I just… can’t,” the Commander repeated, ripping Maxwell away from his hasty assumptions. “I thought I could… But…”

“What do you mean ‘you can’t’?” the Herald cut him off impatiently. “I’m absolutely sure you can, if only…” he came to a stop, eyebrows narrowing in suspicion. “Wait a minute…”

If he looked close enough and in a direction he’d never considered facing, there was an utterly ridiculous explanation for all of this. Maxwell bit the inside of his cheek.

“You don’t want it,” he said slowly. “You don’t want to do this. There’s no _can’t_ in this.”

Cullen gasped – a sharp, abrupt sound that served both as a blatant indication and a clear answer. The Inquisitor watched as the man’s expression changed from shock to regret and then acceptance, reflecting the same feelings that were surging through Maxwell himself. The Commander groaned, pressing his hands to his face.

“It’s not that I don’t want it…” he muttered. “It’s just… so many things happened. I don’t know what to think anymore…”

“…you don’t want it,” the Inquisitor repeated. Whatever remains of feelings he might have kept after losing Hawke, all of them twisted and drained and turned into hollow space. His hand grasped his dark shirt, above his heart, and remained there as the understanding sank in.

_He doesn’t want this, and not because he’s scared or unprepared for it. He doesn’t want **me**. **I’m** the problem._

Maxwell stepped back.

“I told you it’s not like this,” the Commander said, though his trembling words suggested he wasn’t very honest.

 _I don’t understand,_ the Herald thought, throwing his memories upside down in an attempt to find out where their relationship started to collapse. How hadn’t he noticed? Had that relationship even been there to start with?

“Maxwell…”

_He pushed me away…_

“Maxwell, please, listen to me…”

“All right,” the Herald said, on border between whispering and crying out. “I want you to answer a question. Do not lie to me.” He took a deep breath, settled down his wailing thoughts and focused all bits of attention he had left on the Commander. “Do you love me?”

Maxwell had never asked that question before, not to anyone. He’d also never kissed anyone or tried keeping them this close – Cullen was a first. They had a long, thorny story, one that probably still bit both of them whenever they tried to dig into the past. With time, Maxwell did not only come to care about the Commander. What he was feeling was love – he had accepted it and begun to cherish it. He’d thought Cullen was feeling the same.

Cullen, who was as pale as death, shivering in a freezing hold of the question he’d just asked. Silent.

Maxwell gave up waiting.

“You were right,” he said. “You only loved once.”

He turned and stepped back to the ladder so quietly he almost couldn’t hear his own feet. When the man was climbing down, the Commander finally came to his senses and jumped out of his bed, calling out for his Inquisitor. Maxwell only hurried up. He ran out of the tower, leaving the mocking shadows behind, and proceeded back into the castle, through Solas’s workplace, through the hall - Cullen’s voice wasn’t even reaching him anymore.

Maxwell dashed to his chamber, and as he was running down the corridor and scaring his poor servants, he bumped into Solas - it was a miracle both managed to stay on their feet. Irritation vanished from the elf’s features as soon as he got an eyeful of the Inquisitor’s face, but Maxwell didn’t stop there to give explanations. He ran past the confused healer and threw the door to his chamber open, entering and forcing it closed right after. Solas would have to excuse him for locking it.

The man approached his unmade bed, last pieces of strength leaving him after an exhausting experience he should’ve never had. Not after suffering through so much beforehand. Maxwell fell on the cold blanket, face down, and stopped holding back his tears. When he cried, he thought there was nothing more to exist for. When he drifted away in a restless sleep, a man with dark eyes and ruffled black hair tried to lighten his mood with easy jokes and radiant smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> This is the last chapter I’m posting this year, so it’s time to wish you all Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I wish you all happiness, lots of good laughs and best health! This year may hold a few disasters (like this horrible chapter lol) but let’s hope the next one will be way better! Year, not chapter. XD  
> Anyway, lots of love to you guys! Thanks for being here with me <33 really appreciate that!
> 
> /hugs and kisses
> 
> P.S.: Please don’t hate me ;_; I didn’t chose this chapter to come out before holidays :(


	18. Chapter 18

****

_I tell him about the demon, and he freaks out. He believes I’m in love with him because the demon showed me so._

_When I kiss him in heat of the moment, he punches me in the face. He breaks my nose._

Frown deepening, Maxwell blinked at the ceiling. Bloody chunks of meat were clinging to it and promising to fall off, but no matter how diligently he willed them to disappear, they wouldn’t listen. Lyrium was wearing off, slowly ripping the Herald of his ability of vision control. He didn’t mind that much, though, because all of his attention was now thrown on a hopeless struggle to comprehend a truth he’d been part of for a very long time but realized that only recently.

_In the Winter Palace I make him dance with me, naming a reason I no longer remember._

_He gives in. He pulls me closer._

Maxwell could hear someone start moving, feet loud against the hard floor as they approached one of the balconies. Heavy curtains drew apart, and sunlight filled the chamber and caught everything around it in its grasp. A chunk fell to the floor with a dull thud, raising a big puff of nonexistent dust into the air.

_When I am enraged and feel insanely powerful, when I am about to unleash my anger and be done with everything, he kisses me. I do not question it, take it for granted, allow it to pacify me. Later, he tells me he doesn’t regret._

Footsteps made their way back to where they had begun earlier. The right side of Maxwell’s bed.

_All these memories are of the same person. When did he change from disgusted to willing? What drove him and why is it not working anymore? Has he been lying to me?_

“Inquisitor,” a soft voice called. “You need to drink this.”

The man rose on his bed, knees bending, and the blanket slid down his thighs. Maxwell took an offered mug obediently; the liquid was almost burning when he brought it to his lips.

_I want to know the reason, but I have to be honest with myself: knowing the truth won’t help me at this point. I have to admit that I am in love, and if it’s a lost cause - if Cullen doesn’t love me back, and he avoided answering when I asked him directly - then I’m going to be heartbroken._

_What is he doing? How, just how am I supposed to understand all of this? How do I go though it?_

Maxwell handed the empty mug back to the waiting hands. Slim fingers brushed against his skin and retreated, and the man lowered himself to the mattress again. More chunks were tearing themselves from the ceiling to drop onto the flat surface below.

It refused to dawn on him.

“Solas,” the Herald called quietly.

The elf looked up. “What is it?”

Hawke, the only person who’d opened up to Maxwell, was dead. The other person – the Inquisitor’s dearest person – crushed him with refusal straight afterwards, intentionally that was done or not. Solas was the last one whom Maxwell trusted; maybe not with his friendship or heart, but undoubtedly with his life.

“You won’t lie to me, right?” he asked, watching the red.

Half a minute passed.  The elf wasn’t saying anything.

“I don’t think you will,” Maxwell went on, lack of response staying unnoticed. “You’ve been looking after me for so long. There’s no point in lying to me.”

“Inquisitor-” Solas started.

 _But I won’t let you or anyone else into my heart,_ Maxwell noted with a lingering feeling of buried sadness. _I may even not be capable to, anymore._

The man finally let his previously unmoving stare sink until it found the elf. Solas was holding the mug in his hands and rotating it absently, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The Herald continued:

“I’m sorry I shut the door to my chamber. I guess I wanted to have a moment alone with myself and locked you out in the process.”

Solas scowled at him. Then tilted his head. “…I am sorry I had to break it,” he said.

Maxwell let out a short, dry chuckle. “They’ll fix it.”

The evening before, he detached himself from the rest of the world, dragged his feet to the bed and fell on top of it - a shaking mess suffocated by tears that overpowered him. However, an obstacle as small as a locked door must have been no more than a laughing matter for Solas because he simply shattered it out of his way. The Herald didn’t remember anything about the rough interference, so that had to mean he’d fainted before that happened.

Solas told him later that the Commander attempted to barge in but never made it past the Inquisitor’s doorstep. Maxwell didn’t know how the elf managed to pull that off, but he was thankful: no words Cullen may have had would have reached his ears anyway. The wound was still fresh.

Since then, Solas hadn’t abandoned the Herald’s side. There were no arguments and no questions – nothing but stretching silence until Maxwell woke up.

“Thank you,” the man whispered. “For letting me rest.”

The elf didn’t answer right away, his thin hands folded across his chest and expression naturally calm. He nodded slowly.

“You need more. The Adamant Fortress drained you, and so did your breakdown. I would not recommend leaving your bed yet.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Maxwell shrugged. “There’s nowhere to go, and besides, I don’t really want to see anyone. Eh, except you. You know.”

In the back of his head, Hawke’s face smiled. The corners of Maxwell’s mouth twitched up, and he didn’t speak for a while.

“Do you think I should resume taking lyrium?” he asked later, and yet again it took time for Solas to answer. He was acting strangely hesitant this morning; something must have happened… or perhaps he just had a lot to think about, with Maxwell’s illness and all.

“You will lose your memories,” the elf reminded. His voice sounded a little pinched.

_Maybe I want to._

Red flickered and disappeared in a split second, leaving the chamber suddenly clean and tidy – nothing out of the ordinary. Solas looked up at the ceiling, and having caught that, Maxwell wondered if he noticed the change. The thought was dismissed quickly, though: the elf hadn’t shown any signs of seeing the illusions, so that must have been a coincidence.

***

In the Inquisitor’s chamber, days passed - each of them different from the others just slightly. Maxwell took his time to recover and locked himself behind a massive door of fake calmness: these days, he wore masks like gloves and never told what he was really thinking. Never showed what he was really feeling. He smiled, joked and acted confident – in other words, did everything that made people around him think he was getting better. Usually, when guests left, regret and loneliness would continue to hover among the walls, making Maxwell shiver both in disgust and despair. His acting performance stopped only when it was Solas who kept him company - and when that was the case, neither regret, nor loneliness ever showed up.

 _It’s okay,_ Maxwell thought. _He is my healer._ _I don’t have to fake anything around him._

It was no wonder the Herald preferred Solas’s presence to anyone else’s.

The Commander still hadn’t visited him… Maybe he wasn’t even planning to. Standing on the balcony and looking down at servants and workers who were restlessly developing the living conditions of Skyhold, Maxwell assured himself this was exactly what he needed. This forced independency.

At moments like these, stubborn and unbelieving, deep inside he rotted because of a feeling that was far more devastating than anything he had ever come across. The Inquisitor was suffering from abandonment.

***

It was morning, and Maxwell spent a good couple of hours dealing with his servants. After a long bathing procedure, he changed into a new set of clothes and accepted yet another pile of papers from the Spymaster’s agent: he’d been skipping out for quite a while now, and as the leader of the Inquisition, he needed to be aware of every detail. Solas let the man handle the task on his own and left for, as he said, a few minutes. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean the Inquisitor was getting his peace because soon the door opened again, and Cassandra stormed in, her outwardly intimidating posture sending the remaining servants out into the corridor.

As soon as the door was closed, the Seeker sighed and pressed both hands to her hips.

“You two just can’t not argue. I’m fed up,” she announced. The woman was wearing her usual training clothes and a frown that could only mean she was about to give a lecture or ask a bunch of difficult questions.

Maxwell, who’d gradually shifted his reading duty to the working table, looked to the side. The Seeker had thrown his concentration out of the window with her unexpected appearance, and the topic she was initiating happened to be quite unwelcome. The Herald hadn’t even had enough time to prepare a mask for this occurrence.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to swallow down his vulnerability. The man dropped his stare back to the papers, preparing himself for a conversation he thought was going to follow, and that seemed to do some kind of a trick: what Cassandra said next felt like genuine concern and allowed plenty of space for maneuver.

“How are you feeling?”

_Thank the Maker._

“Better,” Maxwell answered, running through his mental list of available escape routes. One came up pretty fast. “How’s Varric?”

The Seeker’s face darkened. So did the Inquisitor’s when he realized what he’d just asked.

“Bad,” the woman breathed out. She went towards the bed and picked up the chair Solas was always sitting on, then proceeded to Maxwell’s working table. “I haven’t expected to see him in such a state. He is completely destroyed.”

 _As am I,_ the man thought, unblinking.

“I guess… he really cared about Hawke,” the Seeker added. She put the chair down by the other side of the table and sat.

_As did I._

The Herald braced himself. Solas wasn’t here - therefore, he was free to act as if everything was fine. Pain would definitely come, but he’d have to worry about that later-

“When I was searching for him, I didn’t think that he…” The Seeker shook her head, one hand reaching up to hug her shoulder. “Everyone in Kirkwall praised him so much, and he seemed so… invincible. Varric saw him differently, and now I understand why… Hawke wasn’t invincible, he was-”

“Don’t,” Maxwell asked in a tiny, strained voice. Cassandra inhaled sharply, no doubt remembering the way she’d had to pull the Inquisitor out of the Fade. The way he’d been reaching out to his soon to be dead friend until he fell unconscious. These memories were always present in the Inquisitor’s head, vivid and loud.

“I’m sorry,” the Seeker muttered, and Maxwell managed a nod.

In a silent grip of their mutual regret, the man glanced at the nearest windowsill to distract himself. A bird - one of many that inhabited Skyhold these days - was hopping from place to place there, and Red – _Red,_ **_again_** – crawled back to give it more space. There had been none of it a few seconds ago, and Maxwell would’ve probably become irritated if he hadn’t been depressed.

He missed Hawke so much. He missed his light friendship with Cullen, too. He missed the bright days when his smile had been honest. Tournaments with recruits. Friendly races. Warmth.

He needed lyrium. Illusions aside, maybe it was the only thing that had the ability to help him. Things that were hurting him, it could help forget.

“What did the Commander say?” Maxwell asked.

The Seeker lifted her head, surprised by his abrupt interest. That expression, however, was quickly replaced by one of those she wore whenever she felt troubled.

“…nothing,” Cassandra answered, turning to look at the bird as well. A good distraction. “It’s not very hard to notice. He tends to keep a straight face when he’s frustrated, and that always fails to convince me. He’s buried himself under work. And, as far as I’m informed, he has not been eating properly.”

Hearing this… wasn’t satisfying at all. “Why do you think it has anything to do with me, though?”

She snorted. “Well, what else can it be? Besides, I met him on the battlements one night. He was panicking, not properly dressed and obviously not looking where he was going. I asked him what the matter was, and he held it in, so I followed him to your chamber and saw how Solas refused to let him in.”

 _She’s talking about that incident…_ Maxwell scowled. The point of view she presented was entirely new. All he had been able to notice back then was his desperation to get away from Cullen as fast as it was physically possible.

“He has become quite protective of you.”

“…eh?” the Inquisitor flinched, losing his train of thought. “What? Who?”

“Solas,” Cassandra clarified, her voice becoming a tad warmer. “When I came to your chamber later, he did his best to keep me out. He cares about you.”

“You think?”

“He has been by your side since the Breach,” the Seeker explained. “Ever since you fell ill, he has been making sure to treat you properly. I cannot pick a morning when I wouldn’t see him heading here, even at times when you are perfectly capable of visiting him yourself.”

Maxwell hummed. Solas _was_ doing a pretty good job at both protecting his Inquisitor and consulting him. He’d even served as a crying pillow once; the man still felt embarrassed when he remembered that day. Embarrassed… but grateful as well.

“He is a good friend,” Cassandra summed up.

 _No,_ the Herald objected. _Not a friend. Not good to be my friend._ His friends had a habit of either dying or turning up liars, after all. He couldn’t let Solas be like that. Aloud, he said:

“You’ve changed too. I remember some of our previous encounters. Especially the first, it is very… memorable.”

The Seeker opened her mouth and closed it, deciding against whatever she’d wanted to say at first. She bit her lip, and when she spoke next, her words were quiet – as if she was blaming herself for their first meeting. “I remember. I didn’t trust you in the beginning.”

“I wouldn’t trust me either,” Maxwell said.

“Maybe. But things change. I learned to trust both you and in you.”

“I still feel like walking into another dimension every time you say things like that.”

Cassandra smiled. It wasn’t a grin like one of Hawke’s, but somehow it conveyed a similar meaning - maybe that was why the Inquisitor suddenly missed the time when they’d been closer than this. When the Seeker helped him with the letter – a memory almost forgotten but not entirely, thanks to his dead parents. When she found him hiding from the rest of Haven in the darkness of his small house. When she tried to bring balance into his relationship with the Commander. If there had been no demon- no, if Maxwell hadn’t been so addicted to keeping secrets, they’d become good friends-

 _No,_ he reminded himself. _Not friends. It’s better for us this way._

He felt so lost.

“I trust you will find a way to settle things,” the Seeker was saying. She straightened up in her chair, and her smile had already faltered. “There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you. It is important for the Inquisition.”

Maxwell fumbled with the corner of a document. “What is it?”

“The Elder God,” Cassandra specified, and the Herald had to tuck the remaining pictures of their good encounters into a safe corner where he’d return to later. “After all the battles we’ve won – not without your help, I must add, - after having lost so many people, we can finally be certain that our forces match.”

The Herald lifted an eyebrow. “The reports mentioned it, but… how can you be so sure? He’s full of tricks up his sleeve: a demon army, an assassination attempt in Orlais… we didn’t even know about the latter until we slammed ourselves right into it.”

“Leliana’s agents have been following the last of his army - that’s how we know. The Spymaster rarely sleeps ever since she finished reading the Adamant report.” The Seeker paused and folded her hands on the table. Her eyes flickered over the papers Maxwell had been reading and then slid up to his face. “Which reminds me: it is supposed to be the Inquisitor’s work… but seeing as you always come back damaged, I made it part of mine. I’m always near you during your missions, so…”

“I figured,” the man said. “Thanks. Wouldn’t trust it to anyone else. Anyway, what were you saying before I interrupted you? We’re as strong as Corypheus now? Does that mean we are planning an attack?”

Cassandra was almost answering his question when the door creaked, its cry reaching their ears on instant. Simultaneously, both of them winced and turned their heads towards the noise: the door opened fully, and there was Solas, hesitant to enter as soon as he noticed the Inquisitor was having a private conversation. He glanced at the man, asking a question that didn’t include words, and Maxwell nodded - only then was the door closed again.

“As I was saying,” the Seeker went on when the elf approached the table, “the information we have gathered suggests that at this point our forces match those of Corypheus’s. His army has been spotted marching south, and it is assumed he is heading to the Arbor Wilds.”

“The Arbor Wilds?” Maxwell repeated, a little confused. “What’s he looking for in there? An army of animals?”

“No,” Solas said grimly. “He’s going for the elven ruins.”

“Oh…”

Cassandra squinted at the elf. “Leliana said so too. There was a meeting earlier this morning, and we discussed what exactly he might be searching for. Lady Morrigan thinks it is a relic – one she is aware of, in fact. She didn’t delve into much detail but offered her help in the upcoming crusade.”

“So, we _are_ planning an attack.” Maxwell summed up.

“Yes,” the Seeker confirmed, and her expression filled with concern once again. “You know what that means.”

 _Yeah, I know,_ the Inquisitor agreed sullenly. _I almost died at Adamant and haven’t recovered yet, lost a friend, lost another – one I’m in love with; there’s never been a mission when I’d come back unharmed, and we have to ignore all of that and send me out again because I’m assumed to be the only person in entire Thedas who can overthrow the Elder God._

“Is this why you’re so tensed up?” he asked.

“You almost died…” Cassandra breathed out.

Maxwell shrugged. True, with everything that had already happened, he wouldn’t be surprised if he died during the next mission. But it wasn’t like he had a choice. No one had it. And besides, if he was completely honest with himself…

_Wouldn’t I be happy to see Hawke again?_

“Stop it,” a quiet, yet strong whisper demanded. The Herald flinched and looked up at Solas who was frowning back at him, and for a second the man feared he’d voiced what was lurking in his mind. However, the elf didn’t push his line of thought further.

“Stop what?” Cassandra, who didn’t get it either, wondered. The elf simply shook his head.

“How soon are we leaving?” he asked instead.

“…soon,” the woman answered. She shared a stare with the Inquisitor - though Maxwell had seen enough to not be puzzled by the elf’s behavior - and added: “We need to prepare our men and ready our supplies. When we are done, we will be leaving.”

Judging by the way Solas pressed his lips tightly together, he didn’t like the answer. Not even a bit.

The rest of their conversation was filled with details that had been discussed at the meeting earlier that morning – the meeting Maxwell could not have attended because of his bed regimen. Sometimes, Cassandra mentioned Cullen, but with Solas around she didn’t attempt to pry the mystery of their poor relationship.

She was right: Solas would’ve been a great friend. He didn’t do anything but stand nearby, and Maxwell was already thankful to no end.

***

The advisors were all but a magical power that possessed an infinite ability to amaze the Inquisitor. Even now, walking down the road that had been forced through the rich carpet of overgrown grass by uncountable feet of the Elder God’s army, Maxwell could sense Leliana’s agents hiding somewhere nearby, protecting him and his companions from possible threats. Guiding. Far ahead, a huge camp was settled – their current destination. There, sitting in a tent and surrounded by guards, Josephine was probably writing back to Orlais to get reinforcements. The Commander was undoubtedly leading the army, focused and brave and persistent as usual. But even taking that aside, they were the small mechanism that kept the giant monster named Inquisition running. If they hadn’t been there, Corypheus would have long since achieved his goal. Maxwell would have been dead and gone.

But the giant monster would fall if the Herald failed to fulfill his duty, and so he went forward, worries and wounds soothed by his trained will and fresh, blue threads of lyrium that were embracing his body from the inside. Maxwell was reluctant to take it at first, especially being aware of the downside, but he simply couldn’t allow himself venture unshielded. Certainly, Cassandra, Solas and even Morrigan were looking after him, but the man didn’t know if he’d be able to think straight with the Elder God nearby. Corypheus had left him alive, and there had to be a reason for that.

When the group finally reached the camp, they were met by an agent who gave them a brief description of the situation. For now, the Inquisition was still holding, but Corypheus _did_ have a trick up his sleeve, and that trick was red templars. Maxwell had naively hoped he’d seen the last of them in Therinfal. The Elder God himself had been spotted travelling towards an elven ruin to the north, and that marked the new destination for the Herald.

When the report was over, the man directed his steps to the ruin - or thought he’d done so, but a single word stopped him. It was uttered by a familiar voice - the most familiar - and Maxwell knew exactly whom it belonged to.

“Inquisitor-!”

 _No. Not you,_ he begged. _Anyone but you._

There could be no mistake. Beside him, Solas was standing idly, looking like he wouldn’t interfere with whatever was about to happen. Maker knew he’d been doing that long enough. Maxwell didn’t blame the elf, though: he’d known this moment would happen sooner or later- there was no escape from that. So he straightened his posture and relaxed his shoulders and then turned around.

“Commander,” he greeted.

First thing he saw was Cullen’s eyes. Or, more accurately, dark circles under them. _Lack of sleep,_ Maxwell immediately understood, and his heart made a cruel, stinging thump before setting into a faster rhythm. The Herald shifted from one foot to another, taking in the rest of the Commander’s face.

He had to admit that, overall, Cullen seemed composed and steady. If Maxwell hadn’t known better, he would have assumed the problem was in a couple of nightmares – an issue that usually evaporated as quickly as it appeared. However, he knew better. He recognized the reason behind these tired eyes, and that made him both sad and angry. If the Commander had been suffering without him, why hadn’t he come before?

“Did you need something?” the man asked, and whatever it was, he hoped to end it fast: the crippled relationship could wait. Corypheus was a threat that had to be neutralized, and Maxwell was pretty sure the Elder God had better things to do than lingering on one spot. Each second he was wasting here stretched the distance between him and his target.

Any other reasons he might have had were inessential.

“I just… wanted to say ‘take care’,” Cullen muttered. His damaged hand slid up to his sword and squeezed it, and when Maxwell glanced down at the movement, his thoughts gave way to unpleasant memories that were connected to the damage. Their sloppy kiss showed up as well - this sharp, poisonous thorn - and the Herald had to force himself to look up.

_Liar._

“No need,” Maxwell said evenly, stepping back. “Thanks for visiting me, Commander. Good luck.”

And he turned away just like that, without uttering anything else. The Commander didn’t call out to him either, and Maxwell guessed that was the end of it. Despite that, when the man started walking away, his heart felt heavy: he’d caught a glimpse of Cullen’s face, and the only thing he saw written on it was pain.

***

Morrigan wasn’t Varric. Of course, that was obvious, but in this case Maxwell meant the wide difference in their behavior. Varric was – had used to be, at least – a funny companion, someone who always had a witty remark for every occasion. Morrigan _did_ have a witty remark for everything and even where it wasn’t needed or appreciated, but she wasn’t funny at all. She was, however, very clever, and the Herald felt somewhat stupid when she talked about the relic they were searching or about the ruin they were going to visit.

The place they were heading to wasn’t a simple ruin - it may have been the Temple of Mythal. At first Maxwell had no idea who this Mythal was, but Morrigan answered all of his questions with the patience of a saint. A temple meant place for worshiping, which in its turn meant there would be elves and relics – most importantly, an Eluvian: the relic Corypheus, according to the witch, was after. It registered in Maxwell’s memory as a ‘mirror that lets people into the Fade’ because the name always slipped from his memory. Which happened because the red templars kept ambushing them around every corner - fortunately, luck was on the side of the Inquisition.

At any rate, what the group actually found in the end of the road beat all predictions they might have had: there was a large balcony that overlooked the area below, and first thing the group saw down there was the Elder God himself.

Terrified, Maxwell instantly began creeping back, but Solas and Cassandra grabbed him and dragged him down so they were hiding behind the small pillars. It was a good thing the Herald was wearing more leather than actual armor on this mission; otherwise, there would have been a lot of unwanted clanking.

“What are you doing?” the Seeker whispered, and Maxwell didn’t answer.

 _Must be my self-preservation instinct…_ he told himself, grabbing the elf’s elbow for moral support. If Solas noticed, he didn’t do anything to break free.

Morrigan peeked over the balcony and froze in that position, watching the scene below. After a short while the rest of the group joined her, and Maxwell saw what was happening. Corypheus hadn’t noticed them yet – in fact, he seemed to be too busy dealing with a crowd of elven archers who were pointing their arrows at him. No, _them_ , there were other people surrounding the Elder God and supporting him: a woman with blonde hair commanded a group of strangely dressed guards. Despite their clothes, they looked rather dangerous and definitely ready to protect their masters.

Like before, the Elder God was taking his time to talk before attacking. “These are……..will not keep……..Sorrows,” he was saying, and the distance ate half of his words. Maxwell bit the inside of his cheek nervously.

“Can you hear what he’s saying?” Cassandra whispered to Solas as if she thought longer ears provided better audibility. In fact, the Herald would have to ask Solas later, when… if…

“Parts of it,” Solas answered quietly. “I think he mentioned the Well of Sorrows.”

“The Well of Sorrows…” Morrigan repeated thoughtfully. “What might that be…?”

“Whatever it is, it must be located in the temple,” Cassandra said, nodding in the direction of the elves. Behind them was a massive bridge that connected the entrance platform to a big round building with a roof made of large trees, its doors open. The actual temple of Mythal, Maxwell assumed.

Meanwhile, the Elder God got uncomfortably close to the elves, and he was saying something else when the Inquisitor’s ears caught a rustle. It quickly grabbed all of his attention – his companions’, too – because its source wasn’t coming from below. It was coming from behind them.

“What the-” Cassandra started, and then suddenly they were attacked by a single red templar who must have survived the previous battle and followed them here. At the same time a low but thunderous rumble rose from below, and the sounds mixed and screamed together, confusing Maxwell and his companions. The Herald jumped from his spot, disoriented, and was barely able to register the incoming blow. His hands were faster than his brain, fortunately, and he managed to grab a knife from his leg pocket. With a swift and precise stroke the Inquisitor thrust the blade right in the templar’s left eye - the body fell limp and almost immediately tumbled down to the ground. The templar’s armor plate clanked, and his bag opened from the impact, sending out its insides.

Once the attacker was taken care of, Morrigan and Solas dashed back to the balcony to see what was happening below while Cassandra helped Maxwell up. The man’s feet felt like jelly, so he leaned onto the nearest tree for support.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” he breathed out and waved in the direction of the others. “Go see what Corypheus is doing.”

The Seeker nodded, not without reluctance, and went to join the other two companions. The Inquisitor got his moment of rest and spent it thanking both his teacher and Kain for exercising his reflexes. His heart was beating like mad.

“There’s no one there,” Cassandra announced, breaking the current of his silent gratitude.

“What?” Maxwell unglued himself from the tree. Moving slowly, he stepped over the dead templar and approached the balcony to look down. The Seeker was right: if Corypheus and his servants had been on the platform before, now it was empty. There were elven corpses scattered all over it, though: how that had come to be, only Maker could know.

“Let’s go,” Morrigan said. “We need to get to the temple.”

The group took their way to the stairs, and Maxwell was about to follow when a color attracted his attention. He glanced back and searched until his eyes found it - in a small bottle. Many small bottles, to be exact. They must have fallen out of the templar’s bag.

 _Red lyrium,_ the Herald realized. He stood unmoving for a couple of endless seconds, head empty, then approached the body and squatted next to it. Red was resting inside the glass and looked harmless, but Maxwell knew it was powerful and destructive. Yet even knowing that, he still had to oppose Corypheus – the Elder God couldn’t have disappeared into nothingness – and if the Herald found himself unable to fight, maybe lyrium would help. Red was stronger, and he needed to emerge victorious no matter what.

 _Promised no red to Cullen,_ a thought appeared. _But actually… who cares._

The man’s hand reached down, and his fingers touched one of the bottles. Red shifted suggestively.

 _I’ll grab a few just in case,_ Maxwell decided and gathered the rest. He placed them back into the wooden box they’d fallen out of and shoved it into his bag. When the man was done, he ran to catch up with the others, and when he did, Solas gave him a stare that was impossible to decrypt. The Inquisitor was used to these, so he shrugged it off. He wondered if he should have told the elf about the lyrium.

 _Later_. _I can do it later._

The group proceeded down the bridge, and for a while nothing was happening. However, once they were approaching the doors, a well-known roar pierced though the stillness, making them jump on their places and turn back. The Inquisitor instantly saw two things: a dragon far off in the distance and a black, fleshy form rising from one of the dead bodies. The form was becoming more and more familiar with each its twist.

“It’s him!” Cassandra shouted. “It’s Corypheus!”

“Run,” Solas offered and dashed towards the entrance to the temple. Everyone followed him without objections.

They barely managed to shut the doors before the dragon stroke. Maxwell pressed his back to the flat surface of it and slid down, breathing erratically; what just had happened was utterly terrifying and out of blue. Behind the doors, the dragon roared again, and so did the Elder God, whose way into the temple was now closed.

“Maker… For a second I thought…” Cassandra choked out, her fingers on her collarbones. “Maker, what was that?!”

Solas was catching his breath nearby, knees bent and one of them nearly touching the floor. The Herald had never seen him exhausted like this.

“How’s your legs?” he asked, and Solas scowled at him, his chest heaving. But before he could answer, Morrigan cut in, pointing down at a stairway several feet away:

“We must proceed before Corypheus interferes,” she said, and everyone rose to their shaky feet because they knew she was correct. The Elder God would soon find a way in, and then both the relic and the group would be in danger. No one wanted that, especially the Inquisitor.

As they were descending, Cassandra asked a question that had crossed Maxwell’s mind before, but he hadn’t had any chances to come up with it aloud:

“Morrigan,” she began, her breath a bit erratic from the run, “you said Corypheus wanted an Eluvian, but he mentioned a “Well of Sorrows”. Which is right?”

The witch hummed, taking a few steps down before answering. “I… am uncertain of what he referred to.”

“Could they be the same?” Maxwell asked. “Could “Eluvian” translate into “Well of Sorrows”?”

Morrigan shook her head. “No. It seems an Eluvian is not the prize Corypheus seeks.”

They reached the area below and wandered off in different directions – it was easier to search like this. There were huge platforms and trees everywhere, a lot of smaller ruins overgrown by large plants. Stone pathways were covered with grass. The abandoned temple had a lot in common with the forest outside.

“Come here,” the witch called several minutes later. Maxwell hurried to her side and noticed that the tiled floor under her feet was glowing, soft blue light embracing her ankles.

“Why is it glowing?” he asked first and stopped before it just in case. Morrigan didn’t answer; she was too busy staring at a stone tablet that was attached to a wall in front of her. The Herald narrowed his eyes and tried to read it, but the attempt turned out to be futile: he didn’t recognize the language. Solas, on the other hand, did.

“Atish’all Vir Abelasan,” he read. “It means “Enter the path of the Well of Sorrows”.”

“There is something about knowledge. Respectful or pure. Shiven. Shivennen…”Morrigan trailed off and sighed. “’tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen. Perhaps we should pay obeisance? It may aid entry.”

The Herald looked up at the large doors that were visible up ahead, heavily overgrown like everything else in this place. Besides them, nothing was really standing out... How was he supposed to pay his obeisance?

“How do I do that?” he asked.

Morrigan nodded at the floor. “Perhaps this is your answer. ‘t was not glowing before I stepped on it.” She walked off the tile, and the light from it disappeared. Maxwell lowered an eyebrow: there were _a lot_ of tiles on this floor.

“Oh… right,” he muttered. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Thankfully, the man was wrong. Even though the floor did present quite a challenge, he managed to crack it in the end – not without everyone’s support, he had to admit. The doors opened, and the group proceeded into the next ‘chamber’, which… looked exactly like the previous one and held another set of closed doors and tiles.

“Great,” Maxwell groaned.

The only differences this room had from the other was a gap in the ground which the group didn’t approach and an ambush that jumped at the Inquisitor when he was in the middle of the tiled puzzle and hoping to Maker he was doing it the right way. The blonde woman and her guards appeared out of nowhere and launched an attack that was certainly stopped, but Maxwell had to leave his position and thus erased all of his progress. Raging, he dashed after the woman but was stopped by Morrigan’s hand.

“While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination,” she said, her grasp firm on his shoulder. “We should walk the petitioner’s path, as before.”

Maxwell wanted to object, but Solas interfered before he was able to. “In this case, I must agree with the witch. This is an ancient ground, deserving of our respect.”

“Have you forgotten there’s an army fighting and dying for us?” Cassandra all but fumed, never taking her eyes off the running woman. “The longer we tarry, the more soldiers we lose outside!”

The Inquisitor rubbed the bridge of his nose.

_I’m so tired of this._

Then the man turned and walked back to the tiles. He heard Cassandra exhale, anger thick in the air, but he knew that she understood. She had to.

The blonde woman dived into the floor gap and never reappeared again.

As Maxwell was trying to remember the order he’d been lighting the tiles in, Morrigan approached the edge of the floor, careful not to disturb it. “I may have read more in the first chamber than I revealed,” she said.

Maxwell glanced at her and shrugged once. “Why are you telling me now?”

“’tis a good time as any,” the witch smiled. “It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows… but at a terrible price. The term I deciphered was “Halam’Shivanas”- “the sweet sacrifice of duty.”

 _That’s important,_ the Herald thought. _I wonder why Solas didn’t tell me, he must’ve translated… then again, I didn’t tell him about the lyrium._

“Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the Well,” Morrigan was saying. “I would have it restored, if the opportunity arises. I am willing to pay the cost.”

“Very romantic of you,” Maxwell nodded. His feet stepped onto the last tile, and blue light sparkled brighter. The doors started to open. “Got it.” He breathed out in relief and looked over at the witch, placing his hands on his hips. “I don’t mind. We need to reach it first, though.”

“Indeed, we do,” Morrigan said. “Come, let us enter the temple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLOT PLOT PLOT PLOT PLOT  
> Also, you may have noticed we're reaching the end XD Yaaay


	19. Chapter 19

The air was cool, and the wind was curling its airy body among countless emerald leaves, touching them with its soft fingertips. The group was approaching the huge doors ahead, and despite the overall calmness and no visible threats nearby, Maxwell suddenly felt insecure. The Herald wasn’t sure what made him feel vulnerable all of a sudden, and he looked back at his companions in an unconscious search of support. He was met with a nod from Solas that probably meant something like ‘be on your guard’ and a frown from Cassandra; Morrigan didn’t acknowledge him at all, her eyebrows furrowed and expression concentrated.

At times like these (not that there had been many) Maxwell really missed Varric’s jokes. The dwarf was good at lighting up the mood, and if he’d been unscarred by Hawke’s sacrifice and walked beside them now, he would’ve most certainly been questioning the sanity of ancient elves. The Inquisitor would have joined him: he _had_ just beaten a couple of tiled floor puzzles, after all. How was that supposed to prove his obeisance? _“Maybe these were made specifically for ritual dancers,”_ Varric would have said, making the man smile. _“They needed to move in a particular pattern but kept forgetting where to place their feet, and priests got so pissed off they invented a special floor.”_

Maxwell wondered if the dwarf would ever be able to return to his usual self. The man knew for a fact that he himself wouldn’t: Hawke still haunted his dreams, and with a sharp pain in his chest, again and again, Maxwell realized he may have lost his only, true friend.

“Inquisitor,” Solas called him from behind, and the man flinched, halting his legs. He brushed off his nonexistent tears and turned back.

“What is it?” he asked, but instead of answering, Solas beckoned him with a smooth gesture. Maxwell walked over to him without asking and lowered his head in attention when he got close enough. Cassandra and Morrigan glanced at them but said nothing, and the Herald motioned them to advance. When they obeyed, he asked once more, his voice lower: “What is it, Solas?”

“You told the witch you would allow her to restore the Well,” the elf said as they started following the two women slowly. “Have you thought about using it yourself?”

“Um… no, not really,” Maxwell admitted after a few seconds. “A lot of stuff happened, and I…” Solas looked up at him, seemingly displeased, and he gulped. “I mean… sorry. I guess I wanted to wait until I see the real thing.”

“There may not be enough time to decide when you do,” the elf noted. “The Well can bless you with new abilities, it can grant you power against Corypheus. But it will also deprive you of something you might not want to give up. Think now, Inquisitor - it is the best way to busy your mind.”

Maxwell blinked, processing these words. True, Morrigan had mentioned using the Well included paying a ‘terrible price’; however, what exactly that price was, no one knew. The man tried to come up with a couple of possibilities but in the end reached a solid conclusion that there was nothing valuable he could offer to the Well in exchange for its magic. After Hawke’s death and Cullen’s betrayal there was nothing he cherished. His life, maybe, but he doubted the Well would take it away from him. Maybe his soul…? Well, in that case, it would achieve a rather entertaining one.

What kind of power did it possess, anyway? If the Elder God wanted the Well so much, there had to be something monstrous hidden in it. What could it be, what did Corypheus need? Ancient elven spells that would let him control the remaining guardians? A new orb to re-create an Anchor of his own? An ability to resurrect his fallen soldiers? A new-

Maxwell stopped short. As soon as Solas saw him falter, he stopped as well, his eyes serious and a little bit concerned. “What happened?” he asked, and it took a moment for the Inquisitor to stomach his idea before he voiced it.

“Solas…” he began, licking his dry lips. “Do you think it can make me capable of connecting to the dead?”

The elf avoided looking at him, and Maxwell thought he heard him sigh – very quietly, almost inaudibly. Then Solas raised his head again, and a scowl he was wearing made the man fidget. “Are you implying that you want to bring the Champion back?” he answered with a question of his own.

Maxwell nodded twice, nervous. “Of course I am, he was my friend!”

“And that is what you desire from the Well?” Solas questioned further. “Haven’t you thought about your condition at all?”

The Inquisitor swallowed the words he was about to let out. What the elf had just said made him feel so childish. Stupid... Of course, he should have thought about his well-being first. It was just… Hawke was so _important_.

“I… he…”

“…do you only seek friends among humans?” another question rose, hesitant, and stunned him altogether. Maxwell stared at the elf and attempted to get the purpose of his question, but it was so strikingly foreign he was unable to.

“Solas, what… what are you-” he whispered, and that was all he managed to utter before Cassandra gasped and distracted him. The man spun around, trying to understand where he was and what was happening. It didn’t take long for him to see that the group was surrounded in the main hall of the temple: the room was giant and dimly lit, but that must have been no issue for the guards who were aiming at them. Up on the second floor to which two large stairways were leading, stood an elf dressed in dark clothes and a hood that barely showed his face.

“Venavis,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice, and that was a good sign: at least he didn’t sound irritated. This was a greeting, perhaps? “You… are unlike other invaders.”

Maxwell straightened up and eyed the elf carefully. The archers hadn’t lowered their weapons yet, and he needed to be cautious if he didn’t want to get his entire body pierced. He considered saying something but opted not to: every other member of the group stood silent, waiting, so he probably had to follow their example.

“You bear the mark of magic which is… familiar,” the elf continued. Immediately, the Anchor flashed under the glove as if it was capable of hearing the statement, and the Herald brought his hands behind his back. “How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

“They are my enemies,” Maxwell answered, picking and scaling his words before letting them leave his mouth. “As well as yours.”

The elf folded his hands across his chest and didn’t answer for a while. From the way he kept throwing glances at the intruders it was obvious he was deciding if he wanted to trust them or not. Eventually, he dropped his arms to his sides and said:

“I am called Abelas. We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground.” It was unsettling how the guards were still alert even when their leader went into introductions. “We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the Vir’abelasan.”

““The Place of the Way of Sorrows”,” Morrigan whispered. “He speaks of the Well!”

“It is not _for_ you,” the elf announced, frowning, though there was no way he could have heard the witch. “It is not for _any_ of you.”

“We did not come here to fight you, nor to steal from your temple,” Maxwell hurried to assure him; Maker knew how dangerous ancient guardians could be, especially those who were bound to things they had to protect and slept until a threat was looming over them. Abelas was watching the Inquisitor intently, and that discouraged the man quite a lot.

However, what the elf voiced next was his agreement. “I believe you,” he said. “Trespassers you are, but you have followed rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal.”

 _By solving two tiled puzzles…_ Maxwell lifted an eyebrow but didn’t object. Abelas was speaking so seriously, too…

“If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. And when this is done, you shall be permitted to depart… and never return,” the elf finished. That was a deal he was offering, but it didn’t escape the Inquisitor that if he went with it, he’d lose the opportunity to use the Well. Beside him, Morrigan clicked her tongue, showing that it failed to escape her as well.

“Consider carefully,” she whispered. “You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own.”

She was right, of course. He needed it. Maxwell didn’t know anything about the price, but it would be foolish to let the chance slip away. Still… the Herald didn’t want to infuriate the sentinels with his choice, arrows ready to launch and all. _Maybe they’ll let us use the Well once the fight is over?_ he wondered, but the way Abelas was watching him made the man doubt. He took a tiny step back and looked at Solas questioningly; maybe the elf had something helpful on his mind.

“Part of this is our goal,” Solas said, leaning on his staff. “I would advise siding with them.” Suggesting so, he made sure his next words would be heard by Maxwell’s ears only. “We can ask about the Well later. They will not listen to us now.”

The Inquisitor nodded and raised his head. “I accept your offer,” he stated, and Abelas nodded in return.

“You will be guided to those you seek,” the elf said. “As for the Vir’abelasan… It shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

Maxwell swallowed, realization hitting him at once. Abelas turned on his heel and directed his feet to the exit that was open right behind him, and it was no mystery where he was going. Morrigan gasped, raised her arms, and then she was no more than a bird - but a bird could fly, and a human could not. The witch flapped her wings and darted after the elf while Maxwell stayed on the ground, nothing to carry him up. Deep inside, the man panicked.

“Do not worry,” Solas said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Maxwell winced, looking back and expecting to see a face that belonged to the man he would never see.

“Solas…” he whispered, not really knowing what to say. Fortunately, the elf seemed to understand him without words.

“She seeks to protect the Well of Sorrows,” he reminded. “For now, we must follow our guide.”

“But I… alright…” Maxwell stuttered. He took a hold of himself and let Solas take him to an elf that was waiting for them by the stairs on the other side of the hall - presumably, these led to another room, away from their goal.

The guide led them down the halls of the temple, and the further they went, the more fighting they heard. They caught grunts and screams and ancient words, and that could only mean the sentinels were fulfilling their duty as best as they could. When the group walked out into a more open area, they saw that the mages were almost outnumbering the defense, but there was no way to reach them from where the group was standing – the place was divided by a giant, unbreakable looking fence. The guide didn’t stop, too, so they had to follow.

Several rooms later, however, the elf brought them to huge double doors, and it turned out that the room behind them was the same one where the fighting was going. The group found itself on the other side of the fence, and as soon as the mages saw them, they jumped into attack.

Maxwell, who’d had a long rest and stuffed himself with lyrium, thus becoming a rather difficult target for magic, had a great time slicing through his enemies. It had been a while since he participated in a real fight, and he found it exciting how the flesh broke under the blade, painting it red. Perhaps, he was a bit _too_ excited, even, because at some point Cassandra got in his way, and he almost hit her. Thankfully, the Herald stopped himself. The Seeker gave him a concerned stare, but it wasn't like they had an eternity to spend staying on the same spot, so the group advanced.

Small battles continued as mages kept appearing from nowhere, using teleportation to an extent where it was simply impolite. Maxwell could recall at least four times when a mage appeared behind his back, but thanks to both his reflexes and his companions, none of them ever succeeded. Eventually, the group reached another set of doors, and behind them was a big area covered with grass, bushes and trees. The Inquisitor ran to the balcony and looked down.

There, below, was a grass field marred with blood of sentinels that had been trying to protect the Well of Sorrows. Secluded, the Well rested in a cradle of trees, above the ground and with no distinct way of approaching. Abelas had not appeared yet, but instead there was the blonde woman – the Elder God’s servant – and her guards. She moved towards the Well, doubtlessly intending to teleport, and something clicked in the Herald’s head. He sprinted down the stairs, desperate to prevent her from touching the water. It did not belong to her.

The woman noticed him running, and when she did, she ordered her guards to destroy him. It wasn’t easy to stop the Inquisitor, though, and defeating his companions wasn’t a walk in the park, either. Raging and covered in blood, Maxwell slashed his way through the guards until they were no more. Seeing her people dead - cut into halves, burned or frozen - the blonde woman attempted to change her tactic.

“Stand aside-” she started, but Maxwell had already made his choice. His attack was followed by a magic spell – he wasn’t certain whose – and the woman barely managed to teleport before she was hit. The Herald stopped dead on his track, cursing under his breath and expecting for her to strike.

…or not. A mere second later, she re-appeared on a hill nearby, pressing a hand to her side. Blood covered her fingers and rushed down her waist, painting the fabric of her rich dress. Maxwell smiled.

“Where are you going?” he asked, thrusting the blade of his great sword into soil. “I thought you wanted to drink from the Well.”

The woman hissed, pressing her hand closer as if it would miraculously heal the wound. “If I fall, it will not be by your hand,” she promised. Yet, despite these words, when she tried to retreat further, the last of her strength abandoned her, and the she fell down, disappearing into a vast gap between the rocks. The Herald snorted, shook his head and turned to observe the Well – nothing else could be done here, anyway.

He was about to ask Solas if he could create a pathway up when Abelas ran into his view. The elf’s legs hurried to the Well, and he didn’t notice Maxwell or anyone else in his haste: Morrigan was following him close, her black wings as effective as her target’s feet.

Abelas raised his hands in a quick motion, casting a spell, and a stone stairway started forming in the air, gathering and rising until there was a convenient way up for the guardian. Maxwell snatched his two-handed sword out of the ground and dashed after him; he wasn’t able to outrun the elf, but Morrigan, on the other hand, made it just in time. Swiftly, she transformed back in front of Abelas, separating him from the Well. The elf finally realized the futility of his attempts ant stopped to catch his breath.

“So… the sanctum is despoiled… at last,” he forced out.

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” the witch noted. She glanced at Maxwell, seeking his support. “You heard his parting words, Inquisitor.”

“I wanted to keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!” Abelas confronted her.

“Fool,” Morrigan groaned. “You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows. We can use it against Corypheus-”

Maxwell sheathed his sword; it looked like no one was looking for a fight yet. Even if Abelas decided to get hostile, that would lead him nowhere: he was alone and surrounded.

The elf was aware of his situation, of course. Still, when he looked at the Well that was resting so peacefully behind the witch, his expression showed his unwillingness to remain idle. “Do you even... know what you ask?” the guardian questioned, regaining his posture. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on… through this,” he pointed at the Well. “Those who drank from the Vir’abelasan paid a great price. Bound to the service of Mythal for eternity. Like them, are you willing to surrender your free will?”

“Becoming Mythal’s servant… That’s the price for the boon…?” Maxwell muttered. Losing his freedom was not what he had expected, and it was also kind of terrifying…

“True, you have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny,” Abelas continued, his eyes leaving the Well to lock on Maxwell. “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’abelasan as best as you can, to fight your enemy?”

The Herald swallowed. “I…”

Words stuck in his throat. He didn’t know. When he had been on his way to the temple, he thought he had nothing precious to lose. His free will, however, it was… how would he live, knowing there was someone controlling him? Would this service carry on after his death? Wouldn’t he end up losing more than he’d gain? He needed to think, it was no easy choice-

“No.”

The man flinched. That ‘no’ he’d just heard wasn’t a single answer. In fact, the word had been uttered by two of his companions – Morrigan, who had a good reason to intervene, and… Solas. The Inquisitor tilted his head, not exactly sure why the elf was objecting.

“Who will it be, then? You?” Abelas scowled at the witch. “Are you willing to be bound?”

“Bound? To a goddess that no longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan raised her eyebrows. “That is hardly an exchange.”

“Mythal doesn’t exist?” Maxwell cut in, attention drifting away from his elven companion. The detail Morrigan had just mentioned changed the deal enormously.

“I believe so, yes,” the witch confirmed. “’t means the one who drinks from the Well will not have to pay for the boon.”

Abelas shifted slightly. For a moment, the Herald thought he would attack (the group did just imply the sacred ritual was broken to their advantage), but the only thing the elf did was sigh. “You will be bound,” he warned. “Bound, as we are bound. The choice is yours.”

“And you will agree?” Morrigan wondered.

For a while, the elf was silent, and with all his perception Maxwell couldn’t guess what he was thinking about.

“…you have earned your right,” Abelas then answered. His voice indicated he said so because he was outnumbered, but the Herald hoped he grasped at least some of their reasoning. Corypheus was a deadly enemy, and if he prevailed, that would mean the fall of all Thedas.

As soon as the elf was done giving his ‘approval’, he stepped away from the Well and proceeded down the stairs and away from the group – to get his share of sleep, probably. Seeing no more obstacles between herself and the Well, Morrigan dropped her shoulders and approached the water.

 _She is going to drink,_ Maxwell understood. Worry sneaked into his heart; the witch would get the boon and restore the Well as she had promised, but… he didn’t really think well enough before giving his consent. If Mythal no longer lived, he could use the power without giving anything in return. Not only would he be able to oppose Corypheus more confidently, he’d also gain aid in finding the demon that was festering somewhere in his body. And maybe… maybe he’d find a way to bring back Hawke.

_Hawke…_

“Morrigan-”the Herald began nervously, but the woman interrupted him.

“You’ll note the intact Eluvian. I was correct on that count, at least,” she said, pointing forward. Dumbfounded, Maxwell followed her movement and saw a large mirror standing behind the Well. Morrigan had said once that these were portals that allowed travelling through the Fade. “Each requires a key. For this one, the Well is the key. Take it away, and Mythal’s last Eluvian will be no more than glass.”

“Can we escape though it?” Cassandra asked warily.

“Yes,” Morrigan agreed. “Corypheus will not be able to follow us. As for now…” She got even closer to the Well, “we have to do what we must.”

“Wait,” Maxwell jumped in. “About that…”

The witch froze on her spot, and for a moment nothing was happening. Then she lowered her head and slowly shook it. “Are you having doubts now, Inquisitor?” she asked, facing the water. “I am willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

“I know, but…” the Herald trailed off and bit his lip. How could he name all that was nagging at him? His ‘illness’ was one thing, and Hawke was another… it was private. Treasurable. If he had a chance, even if this chance was tinier than anything that had ever existed-

“Inquisitor. Let her do it,” Solas suddenly said.

His request hardly disturbed the air, yet for Maxwell it roared like a burst of thunder. The man blinked and stared at the elf, failing to get why he wasn’t against Morrigan’s idea. Hadn’t he been the one who made Maxwell question his decision in the first place?

“What… why?” he asked, confused. “I thought… Solas, of all people, you should know-”

“I _do_ know,” the elf interrupted him. “And I ask you to believe me. You wish to obtain something the Well cannot give you.”

“But Abelas just said-”

“Inquisitor,” Solas cut him off again, “listen to me. I heard what the sentinel said, and I know what you want from the Well. Trust me when I say it will disappoint you.”

“Disappoint him?” Morrigan repeated. “What exactly does the Inquisitor want? If ‘tis the illness we are talking about, then I can assure you-”

“It’s not the illness,” Maxwell grunted, focused on the elf. “Solas, are you completely certain?”

“Yes,” the elf said.

“We should let Morrigan drink from the Well?”

“Yes.”

The Herald breathed in deep; he had no clue what was happening. For some reason, Solas didn’t want him to use the Well, and though Maxwell wished to see that reason on the table, the elf had dodged his question, and that meant he’d go for it again. Moreover, as the man was stomaching the request, a distant rumble pierced the garden - that sound was a bad sign.

“Corypheus is coming,” Cassandra noted. “You have to decide faster.”

Maxwell let out a heavy sigh: Solas had been right when he told the man there wouldn’t be enough time to consider everything thoroughly. “Fine,” he nodded to Morrigan. “I trust him. Go ahead and drink, we’ll talk about this later.”

“Thank you,” the witch said. Without further reluctance, she stepped into the water, and it embraced her whole. It glimmered and flew, forming a shining cocoon around the woman.

“You made the right choice, Inquisitor,” Solas said. Maxwell could not agree.

 _I hope you’re not wrong about this one,_ he begged internally.

The noise was closing in, but luckily for the group, the ritual didn’t take long. The cocoon soon dissipated, and Morrigan fell to her knees in the middle of the emptied pool. She started talking in a language Maxwell recognized as ancient elven, and thus he could not get any of it. He and the others hurried to help her up.

“I… I am intact…” Morrigan muttered, staggering a little. The Herald took a hold of her elbow and wanted to ask how she was feeling when the noise finally reached them and appeared from above; looking up, Maxwell’s eyes met no other than the Elder God himself. The man’s heart sank.

Corypheus glared at them from the balcony, and when he saw that the Well was absorbed, his face filled with rage. The Elder God screamed and began to descend – the Herald knew what he would do once he touched the ground.

“The Eluvian!” Morrigan shouted, and the group dashed to the mirror. It was their only way to escape, and the Herald wanted to get away from Corypheus more than anything. He felt-

“HALT,” an order thundered through the garden.

Obediently, Maxwell’s feet stuck to the ground. He almost fell forward but didn’t pay much attention to that: he was standing on the same spot, unable to continue running. He was _following orders._ Without his own consent…

 _No,_ he tensed, willing himself to move. _You can’t control me, no one can!_

His feet listened, albeit roughly. Maxwell took a few steps, and then a new order roared:

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

 _No…_ he tried to resist, again, and fortunately, that was enough. He moved, and Cassandra was there to help him; the woman grabbed the Inquisitor’s hand and bolted to the Eluvian together with him. Accompanied by furious howls of the Elder God, they leaped through the mirror and were gone from the temple for good.

***

“That was so close…” the Seeker panted, bending and pressing her palms to her knees. “Inquisitor, are you alright? You just froze in there…”

Maxwell was silent. He sat on the floor of what seemed to be a room within the Skyhold fortress; Morrigan must have moved an Eluvian here when she arrived from the Winter Palace. The only thing he could truly think about, however, was Corypheus. The Elder God had just controlled Maxwell’s legs as if they were his own. He had controlled _Maxwell_.

“Inquisitor…?” Cassandra called.

“I… I need rest…” the man breathed out. “Solas…” he looked at the elf. “I…”

“I know,” Solas nodded. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah, I… I think so…” Maxwell answered. Carefully, he got to his feet; Cassandra helped him while Morrigan simply stood there, watching. Her eyebrows were lowered, and she kept quiet: back there, she might have understood what happened - to some extent, at least.

“I will see what I can do to help you,” she said. “Have a good rest, Inquisitor.”

“I’ll send a crow to Leliana,” the Seeker added. “Do not worry about anything.”

“Yeah…” Maxwell muttered. “Thanks.”

He went to the door, memories of the Well still fresh in his mind. Solas followed the man all the way back to his chamber, and they didn’t speak until the door was closed tight behind them. And even then, first thing Maxwell did was walk to his bed; he didn’t lie down, but he sat, his hands feeling the cold, white sheets.

“He’s controlling me,” the Herald stated.

“Yes,” Solas agreed. He approached the bed and took the chair next to it, saying nothing more.

Maxwell had thought he’d survived through the worst part, but here he was, dull and tired, perfectly aware that the Elder God was able to order him around.

“Now I know why he let me live…” the man grunted.

“But you broke out of his control, did you not?” the elf noticed. “Whatever power he hopes to have upon you, you are not yet ready.”

That was correct. Maxwell wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make those few steps, but he had to start thinking about it if he wanted to be prepared for the upcoming battle. The Elder God had lost the Well, and he’d lost the remaining part of his army, too. He still had his dragon, though, and he was clever: not many days would come to pass before he appeared with a new army.

“Do you think lyrium has something to do with it? It adds to magic resistance, after all,” Maxwell assumed. Lyrium helped against a lot of things and it was probably the only thing that kept him going by now. No offence to Solas’s medicine.

“Possibly,” the elf said. “But you cannot take more than you have already taken unless there is no other option.”

The Herald let out a frosty chuckle. “Corypheus controls me. I hardly see any options. Which reminds me…” he shoved his hand into the bag, feeling for the wooden box he’d picked up from the dead templar. “There,” he fished it out and opened it, presenting small bottles to Solas. “Do you think this can help me resist the Elder God’s magic?”

Red lyrium flickered, reflecting in the elf’s eyes. Maxwell was right: Solas knew he’d taken something from the dead.

***

As it had been both expected and not, the Inquisition won the battle in the ruins: when Corypheus lost the relic he’d been after, he and the remains of his army fled away from the battlefield, leaving the triumphant soldiers to their victory. The Commander ordered his people to retreat as well since there was no evident threat anymore, and Skyhold needed to strengthen its defense.

A couple of days passed since the Well had been absorbed, and Morrigan spent hours finding out how vast its reserve was. Sometimes, Maxwell saw her and her boy in the courtyard; Alistair, too, though the witch seemed mostly displeased when he stuck around.

The Herald saw Varric once: the dwarf was lingering outside the tavern and looking miserable. Maxwell was wearing the same face these days and had a clear picture of how Varric had to be feeling. Still, he didn’t try to approach the dwarf. Instead, he spent his days with Solas, attempting to discover a way to make himself immune to Corypheus’s magic. There was red lyrium, of course, but the elf wasn’t very fond of the idea of using it, and Maxwell felt scared even to think about how it would affect his body or mind.

The Elder God would return soon, he could feel it. There wasn’t much time.

***

One morning, when the Herald woke up, Solas was absent: he must have left to fetch a new set of bottles with herbs. Feeling well-rested, Maxwell got up from the bed and went to grab clean clothes from the wardrobe. When he bended to take a new pair of socks, someone knocked on his door.

 _Feels like it has happened before,_ Maxwell thought, lowering an eyebrow. He closed the wardrobe, pulled on a shirt and went to get the door, expecting to see a servant behind it. He saw the Commander instead.

 _It **has** happened before, _the man corrected himself and leaned to the door, standing in Cullen’s way so he wouldn’t come in uninvited.

“Is something wrong, _Commander?_ ” he asked, stressing the last word, and from the way Cullen’s breath hitched, he knew he’d hit a nerve. The visitor shifted from one foot to another, his hands finding the hilt of his sword and pressing to it in a manner that usually spoke nervousness.

“I want you to come with me,” the Commander said. His words sounded forced, but Maxwell knew it was from uncertainty. Cullen must have spent the whole night thinking if he should offer a walk together or not. Dark spots under his eyes suggested so, too.

Maxwell, on the other hand, had no doubts. He didn’t want to spend time together, not after everything that had happened. Still…

“Where to?” he asked. Immediately, Cullen’s expression changed as hope crawled into him.

“To somewhere,” the man said. “It’s not far. And it’s important.”

_What can be more important than… bah, nevermind._

He could try going, he supposed. Every emotion Maxwell possessed was close to being dead, anyway. He didn’t expect miracles from the walk – didn’t expect anything, to be honest – but why not.

“I need to write a message for Solas,” the Herald muttered. “And get dressed. Wait for me.” He abandoned the door, leaving it slightly open.

“Can I come in?” Cullen asked.

“No.”

Maxwell finished dressing and went to the table: there was a pile of unread documents there, but he already knew what was written in them (he’d been at the battle) and took the paper that was lying on top. He turned it and wrote a quick note for the elf on the other side.

“There,” he took the paper and carried it to the bed. There, he dropped it.

_Should notice it when he comes back._

The Herald returned to the door and exited into the corridor. The Commander was leaning to a wall with his head tipped back - waiting for him. His posture was firm but not very confident.

“Let’s go,” Maxwell said, closing the door.

They proceeded down the corridor and entered the main hall. Servants were running about, performing their daily routines, and each greeted the Inquisitor and the Commander. It’d been a while since Maxwell saw friendly smiles, and he realized he’d grown unaccustomed to it.

Cullen led him outside without saying a word, and the man followed as quietly. Their friendship was such a distant thing now, almost forgotten…

“We’re here,” the Commander said. Maxwell frowned, looking forward at a place he hadn’t expected to visit: a small chapel. He knew one existed within the fortress, but he himself had never visited it. Maxwell still didn’t believe in the Maker.

“A chapel?” he asked.

Cullen didn’t answer. He entered the room and lowered himself on one knee in front of a statue that was surrounded by unlit candles; Maxwell followed him in but remained standing. Everything was motionless for a minute or so, and the Herald busied his head with trying to guess what was happening. Then he heard a whisper, and it dawned upon him.

“…I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

He was praying.

Maxwell stepped closer. “Did I come here to see you pray?” he wondered. He wasn’t against it, but that was a rather surprising turn of events. “What are you even praying for?”

The Commander straightened his back a little but didn’t look back. “For those we have lost. And those I am afraid to lose.” He stopped talking for a second, thoughtful. Then, somewhat timidly, he added: “For you.”

The Herald’s heart jumped under his ribs.

“For me,” he repeated in what he hoped sounded like a steady voice. “Why?”

This time, Cullen stood up and turned around abruptly so that he was facing Maxwell. “Is that not obvious?” he asked. “I am scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of losing you.”

Maxwell’s heart sprang, filling itself with heat. _No,_ he confronted the feeling. _Not now. Not ever._ But Cullen was already stepping towards him, his confidence renewed.

“Cassandra told me what happened,” he stated. “You halted when Corypheus was chasing you.”

…so _that_ was why he’d come all the way to Maxwell’s chamber, then. Cassandra had told him to. It wasn’t his decision.

The Herald’s heart made one final thump before shattering into pieces once again.

“Yeah, I halted, so what?” he hissed. “What does that have to do with you?”

The Commander breathed in sharply, a familiar shade of pain flashing in his eyes. “Inquisitor…” he forced out, but Maxwell was having none of that.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.  
> Next one may be the last (I think it will be).


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last chapter of ‘A Breach in His Heart’. Before you proceed, I want to tell you that I’ll be leaving an extra message for you guys in a few days. This story means a lot to me, and I don’t want to let it go without saying a couple of things first (don’t want to interfere with the ending, either, that’s why the delay).
> 
> So, here you go. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Maxwell put down a quill he was holding and looked over the words he’d written on a neat sheet of paper before him.

_Dear brothers,_

_I’m doing fine. Being who I am is exhausting, but I’m holding up the best way I can. Maybe, everything will be over soon, and we’ll finally meet again._

_Wish me luck. Love you both._

_Maxwell._

“Will do,” the man muttered and rose from his seat, leaving the ink to dry. He picked the letter box and walked up to the bed in a relaxed manner, emptiness of the room soothing him better than the warmest baths any of his servants had ever prepared. Solas was away ‘doing research’ – probably on red lyrium. They still hadn’t found an alternative means of boosting the Inquisitor’s resistance, thus the elf began looking into the only option they had.

Dropping himself on the bed, Maxwell opened the box, and his eyes caught the folded sheet of paper that had been touched way too many times. Hawke’s letter. By now, the Herald knew its contents by heart.

 _If things end up bad for me, I’ll seek you on the other side,_ Maxwell promised. _I know you’re waiting for me, and I won’t disappoint you._

The man raised his free hand to take the letter, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Maxwell glanced in the direction of the sound, wondering who it could be – he wasn’t expecting anyone. Then he shut the wooden lid, put the box on the bed table and went to get the door.

As soon as the door was open, he saw a tiny maid waiting on the other side. She was fidgeting and trembling; something must have happened.

“What’s wrong?” Maxwell asked, calm and composed as if his skin had an ability to reflect the nervousness of others. In reality, of course, this came from being too tired of depression: the man’s emotions simply remained switched off most of the time.

The girl winced, immediately straightening up like a chord. “Leliana is asking for you, my Lord,” she reported. “She said the matter is of utmost importance.”

 _She sent a maid?_ Maxwell frowned. _Must be really urgent._

“Alright,” the man said, stepping out into the corridor. The door shut behind him with a click. “Where is she?”

“Please, follow me,” the maid offered.

She led him out into the main hall, and Maxwell expected her to head for the war room or the library wing where he knew the Spymaster was usually spending her working hours; any other place would suggest an attack or a personal mission, and those happened quite rarely. The maid, however, kept walking in the opposite direction and led the Inquisitor out the hall and through the castle until they reached the very same room where Maxwell and his companions fell out of the Eluvian. Leliana was standing by the active mirror and hesitating to hop in.

“Inquisitor! Thank the Maker you’re here!” She exclaimed when she saw him approach. “Morrigan chased after her son into the Eluvian... She was terrified.”

“She was _chasing_ her own boy?” Maxwell lifted an eyebrow, watching the glowing mirror. He didn’t think he’d have to deal with it so soon.

Leliana nodded, moving aside so he’d have a clear way in. “She said _he_ activated the mirror somehow, and then she ran into it. I’ve never seen Morrigan like that. You must go after her!”

 _Right… Because who else,_ the man sighed. He didn’t have much of a choice here, too: he’d allowed the witch to drink from the Well, and now keeping her safe was his responsibility. Without her he’d lose the access to the ancient knowledge.

“Alright, I’ll go find her,” he promised and proceeded into the Eluvian.

The events that occurred next turned Maxwell’s views upside down. It took a while to find Morrigan, and when he did, he found her frozen on her spot in front of an elderly but very noble looking woman, apparently bound to obey her will. The witch couldn’t even move her fingers, and her eyes were wide open with worry as she stared at the other.

It didn’t take long for Maxwell to guess who the stranger could be: the name of Mythal surfaced from his memory on instant. The timing was convenient, and the woman looked rather intimidating with her long white hair that resembled dragon horns, and her small, ominous smile. She was dressed in an impressive mix of leather and armor that reminded Maxwell of warriors and sorcerers, and judging by the woman’s amused expression, she was having fun and had been awaiting his arrival.

Maxwell suddenly felt happy about letting Morrigan drink from the Well.

“Mythal,” he greeted the woman carefully. He didn’t want to spoil her mood: Morrigan was under her control, and even without that she seemed powerful enough to bash his head into the ground without any effort. So much for the dead goddess…

“I have many names,” the woman answered, her smile never leaving her face. “But you… may call me Flemeth.”

That name rang a distant bell, Maxwell must have heard it somewhere before. He didn’t remember where exactly, though, so he kept his mouth shut. Mythal – or Flemeth, as she’d asked him to call her –waved slightly with her hand, and Morrigan finally regained her ability to move and hurried towards a boy Maxwell hadn’t noticed before: Flemeth’s overwhelming presence had taken all of his attention. The Herald followed Morrigan with his stare and as soon as she wrapped her arms around her son, he turned back to the older woman.

“I presume you know what we’re up against,” he tried.

The woman nodded, still looking amused. “Better than you can possibly imagine,” she said.

“So… will you help us?”

“Once I have what I came for.”

Saying that, Flemeth looked aside – at Morrigan, who was clutching her son in a firm embrace. When the witch realized they were being watched, she shuddered visibly.

“No. I will not allow it,” she objected angrily, and it dawned upon Maxwell what was actually happening here. Flemeth had come to take Morrigan’s son away.

“He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this,” the woman said, and it sounded like for Flemeth the witch’s hostility was nothing more than a child’s offence.

“He is not your pawn, mother. I will not let you use him!”

Forget ‘like’, they were related. Maxwell folded his hands across his chest, shifting a little as new information settled in his brain. This encounter was full of surprises.

“If he is so special, why did you wait until now to come for him?” the man asked. Mother or no, he needed to deal with the boy first.

“I did not know where he was. Morrigan cleverly hid him from me…” Flemeth paused and looked at him as if she was hinting at something. “…until now.”

 _The Well,_ Maxwell understood.

“’t was the Well…” Morrigan breathed out.

“Always grasping beyond your reach, despite all that I taught you,” Flemeth hummed, raising her hand to the witch’s son. The Herald noticed how the boy stirred in his mother’s arms in response, and Morrigan gasped, holding him close.

“Kieran… I…” she mumbled, not letting go. The woman was lost in her fear; Maxwell had never seen her shuddering like that. Whatever was happening here, he had to put an end to it: he needed the witch and the boon she’d obtained from the Well. There had to be a way to make things right.

While he was busy thinking of what to say, Flemeth spoke once more. “Hear my proposal, dear girl,” she said. “Let me take the lad, and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again.”

Hesitantly, the witch loosened her embrace.

“Or, keep the lad with you… and you will never be safe from me,” Flemeth finished. “I will have my due.”

The Inquisitor glanced at Morrigan. Her mother was presenting an opportunity; a choice. Maxwell would at least think twice before making a decision, yet the way the witch’s face brightened with hope told him she didn’t need to think about it at all.

***

 _I have run Through the fields Of pain and sighs. I have fought_  
 _To see the other side…_  
  
_I am the one_  
 _Who can recount_  
 _What we’ve lost._  
  
_I am the one_  
 _Who-_

“It’s almost funny how you stop noticing people when you’re singing,” a familiar voice noted. Maxwell, who’d been standing by his horse and fastening the saddle (not that he didn’t trust his servants, he just felt safer doing it himself), jumped on his spot. Partially because he didn’t hear anyone coming. Partially, because the voice belonged to Varric – the last person he’d expected to see. Slowly, the man turned around, preparing himself for every outcome he could come up with.

“Do you remember how I crawled behind you in Hinterlands?” the dwarf grinned. His grin, however, was deprived of happiness, and his eyes held grief. Maxwell did his best not to focus on that too much.

“Sorry,” he answered, “I don’t.”

As he did not remember most things from his first months in the Inquisition by now. Only important memories lingered, though Maxwell could not be one hundred percent sure about that. With time, he’d learned to put up with frustration.

Varric didn’t comment on that. Instead, he pointed at the Inquisitor’s horse and tilted his head, asking:

“Where are you going?”

Maxwell resumed adjusting the saddle, thankful the dwarf didn’t bring up their mutual friend. “I’m heading out into the forest. There should be an ancient altar somewhere. Morrigan said if we go there, we’ll find help against Corypheus.”

“What kind of help?” Varric wondered, earning himself a half-hearted shrug.

“She said we’re going to summon a dragon. I’m not certain how we’ll do it, or what will happen after that.” The Herald finished with the saddle and took off his bag to attach it. He’d put a bit of food into it and a few things essential for a journey.

“You sure you’ll be able to defeat it if it decides to attack you?”

…he’d also taken both blue and red lyrium. Maxwell wasn’t stupid, and he tried not to be reckless, either.

“No, I’m not,” the man said. “That’s why I hope this dragon is friendly.”

He really hoped it was.

***

They walked.

Blood was oozing from countless holes that dug into the pulsing walls and the low meaty ceiling, and even the floor was corrupted and mostly deformed. The corridor seemed to be a death trap with no turns or doors, and the thick red fog stood like a solid wall up ahead.

Spiders were running away from the Herald and his healer in all possible directions. The two were moving forward, their backs straight and shoulders relaxed: in this nightmare, they were kings.

A small spider hopped out of a hole on the floor, close to Maxwell’s foot. The man glanced down, raised his leg and crushed the insect with his heel. He was smiling.

***

Morning came, and the Herald woke up in his bed, feeling well-rested. He spent a couple of minutes watching the ceiling – he always checked if illusions were there when he woke up. Without lyrium, they had a chaotic behavior: turned up and disappeared whenever they wanted. With blue lyrium, Maxwell could control their timings. With red lyrium… Well, today everything was present. Mist, chunks of meat and disturbing sounds – all he’d come to accept as ordinary. When the man tried to make them disappear though, nothing happened. They would not listen.

Eventually, he stopped struggling and got out of the bed. The day was just beginning, and the sun was barely showing above the mountain tops. Maxwell walked up to a mirror and observed the changes on his body; with a quiet sigh he realized that he was looking like his usual self, minus the color of his eyes and veins. They were brighter now, red in them more evident than before. His eyes hadn’t been altered to an easily recognizable level, yet, but the veins – on his neck and descending - were visible from under his skin and would undoubtedly attract some attention. Biting his lip, the Herald decided he’d have to cover them.

As he was picking a shirt with a high enough collar (he didn’t have many, and suddenly that became a little unnerving), someone decided to visit. Still dressed in clothes that hardly concealed his glowing veins, Maxwell grabbed the first acceptable shirt he got his hands on and pulled it over his head.

“Who is it?” he asked loudly, buttoning the neck first. The answer didn’t make him wait.

“It’s me,” Solas said, his voice muffled by the door. “Can I come in?”

The Herald breathed out in relief, halting his trembling fingers. “Yeah, of course.”

The elf entered the chamber, wearing a scowl. Maxwell guessed it had to do with their night walk: they hadn’t met a single giant spider- hadn’t met any danger at all, actually. But there had been no demon, either.

At the altar, Morrigan had successfully performed a ritual to summon a dragon that matched the power of Corypheus’s pet. Only it had not been a summoning ritual, it had been a transformation. Thankfully for Maxwell, that meant no fights, and thus red lyrium was left in his bag, unused. The Herald himself spent a good quarter of an hour witnessing the greatness of Morrigan’s newly acquired form.

However, as they were having a meal after, the Herald dozed off next to the campfire, and what he experienced in his dream made him panic. He heard the Elder God – a furious creature whose pride and plans were hurt by the Inquisition, and once again he wished to take the man under his control. Maxwell was disconnected from that nightmare by Solas, and according to him, the Herald had tried to cut himself. It seemed Corypheus didn’t need to be nearby anymore to order him around.

Together, they’d decided it was necessary to try their last option, and now their decision was bringing fruits. Not very good ones, but at least the Elder God wasn’t invading Maxwell’s consciousness anymore.

“Do you remember how we met?” Solas asked, closing the door. He’d come up with the same question before going to sleep the day before, and the Inquisitor’s answer wasn’t satisfying.

Unfortunately, the amount of blank spots in his memory only grew.

“I remember you helped me to close that rift,” he said. The same answer he’d offered last time.

“Nothing more?” the elf pushed.

“Nothing more.”

Maxwell pulled on a pair of black pants and looked around in search of his boots. He found them standing next to the bed and went to put them on as well. “I need to show you something,” he told the elf. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I know. Lyrium is already changing your body,” Solas stated.

The Herald froze mid-lacing. “The collar isn’t hiding them well enough?” He brought a hand up to touch his neck through the fabric. It didn’t feel any different.

“I was talking about your eyes.”

“…my eyes,” Maxwell frowned. “Are they that obvious?”

“Not for anyone, no,” Solas assured him. “But I’ve been spending months with you, Inquisitor. I am the one who looks after you. It should not surprise you that I notice changes.”

“Ah… I guess, you’re right,” the man relaxed. His shirt was sufficient, then. For now. He finished with his boots and stood up. “As I was saying, I need to show you something.”

“Yes. Your veins.”

“…I thought you only mentioned my eyes?”

“I did. But you implied there is more, and touched your collar.”

“…right,” the Herald nodded reluctantly. He started to unbutton the top of his shirt, revealing his glowing skin to the elf, and stopped when he reached his chest – what was already showing had to give his healer a distinct idea. For a long while, Solas stared without a word.

“So…” Maxwell lowered his chin to look as well, “Is it bad?”

He expected Solas to say something about it, but the elf didn’t. He blinked and moved forward, approaching the man, and Maxwell felt a distant urge to step away. He didn’t do that, though, and didn’t object when Solas pressed a warm palm to his neck.

“What you do,” the elf uttered, “goes against everything I know of your people.”

His fingertips brushed against a covered vein, and Solas removed his hand entirely, leaving Maxwell puzzled by the statement. The Inquisitor buttoned up his shirt again, wondering what the elf meant. If it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Is there anything else?” Solas asked, dragging him out of his thoughts.

“Uh… yeah…” Maxwell answered a little absently. “My visions. I can’t control them anymore. And they don’t disappear.”

“Can you touch them?”

“I don’t know.” The man hadn’t tried to do that yet. He looked around, watching the moving pieces of meat, spotted a small one resting on a windowsill and came up to it. He didn’t expect to actually touch it, but when his hand lay onto the moving flesh, it felt…. It felt. Maxwell took the piece off the flat surface and squeezed it. It stirred in response but otherwise was harmless.

“I’m touching it!” Maxwell gasped, both excited and somewhat disgusted.

_At least I can throw these at the Elder God if I’m out of weapons._

“To other people it will seem like you’re grasping the air, Inquisitor,” Solas informed him.

_…or not._

He put the meat back and looked at his hand. In reality Maxwell hadn’t grabbed anything, but he could definitely see a thin layer of slime on his palm. Instincts told him to wipe it with his shirt, but he refused to do that.

“I need to wash my hand,” the Herald stated.

At that moment a thundering noise pierced the air, and both Maxwell and Solas flinched, turning their heads towards the balcony in a simultaneous, abrupt movement. Their eyes were met with green light, one they knew all too well. One they’d thought they’d dealt with. The Anchor on Maxwell’s hand burst into flame, erasing the mousy doubts, and the man bolted to the balcony. Once he was outside, he understood there was no mistake.

By some miracle, Corypheus had re-opened the Breach. Enormous and dreadful like before, it stretched from the sky all the way down to the reddened ground.

“He doesn’t waste time,” Maxwell grunted. “Our army hasn’t arrived back yet.”

Beside him, Solas stood silent.

“I need to get to the advisors,” the Herald added and dashed back into the chamber. He hurried into the main hall that was overgrown by meat, and stopped by the Ambassador’s room – the common way to the war room where the advisors usually gathered. Maxwell stormed inside and saw Josephine standing by a dirty window with a horrified face; she was pressing her small hand to her mouth, and the sinister light that was coming through the stained glass made her look very fragile.

“inquisitor…” she mumbled as soon as she noticed him. “I don’t understand…”

“Me neither,” Maxwell assured her. “Where’s everyone?”

As if answering to his question, loud and hasty steps rose from the hall. They were familiar to the Herald, and he turned around, expecting to see the Commander any second now. When Cullen ran in, he behaved composedly; didn’t falter when he saw Maxwell in the room and simply proceeded with the first thing a Commander was supposed to do whenever things went out of control. He reported.

“We have no forces to send, Inquisitor,” he said, and Maxwell was surprised by the formality. The man’s face was impossible to read, and his eyes were hard and cold. “We must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds. Leliana is sending agents, they will inform you on your way. Take everyone you can, I will be following you.”

Having said that, the Commander turned on his heel and rushed out – to gather those few soldiers he had, probably. Guards would have to go as well: if Corypheus opened the Breach, then he was attempting his final attack, and he’d taken a good opportunity, too: the Inquisition was weak without its army. Also, the Eder God had to be counting on his control over the Inquisitor.

“Inquisitor… what are you going to do?” Josephine asked, taking a step away from the window. Her voice was shaky. “Can you possibly close the Breach once again?”

“I’ll try,” the Herald said, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I’ll try…”

***

Maxwell put all red lyrium bottles he had into his box, pushing the blue ones aside. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use his ‘last resort’, but the Inquisition taught him one thing for sure: his hopes were rarely fulfilled.

Solas stood by the man’s side and watched quietly, keeping his staff in a tight grip. “You may never recover if you take all of it,” he said.

“I know,” Maxwell muttered, but he didn’t change his mind anyway. If he died, he’d go and look for Hawke on the other side. He was used to lighting up his mood with that one. “Besides, you’ll be there, right?” He glanced at the elf.

“You may have not noticed, Inquisitor,” Solas leaned on his staff and gave the man a little smile, “but I have always been ‘there’.”

“I’ve noticed, Solas,” Maxwell promised. “I really have.”

He closed his bag and lifted it from the table, looking around one last time. There wasn’t anything else holding the man in his chamber: he’d already finished with his supplies and armor. More leather and less steel – that wasn’t the safest combination, but the Herald wanted to stay as mobile as possible. Furthermore, all of his companions were waiting in the main hall, and if something happened on the battlefield, Maxwell could be sure someone would help him.

“Let’s go,” he said to the elf, picked up his helmet and headed towards the door. Solas followed him out wordlessly.

***

The Breach, a grim giant that was looming over the Valley of Sacred Ashes, intertwined its arms with the swarm of nearest storm clouds and whirled them into its restless circle. The Inquisitor had taken all of his companions to the Valley for the last battle, but less than a half made it to the actual point.

Even though the Commander had managed to prepare a decent squad out of remaining recruits, guards and soldiers, the Elder God sent a lot of demons their way. Aggressive and destructive in their nature, demons were quick to throw their order apart and started killing them off while they lingered in smaller groups. Maxwell’s companions detached from him one by one, handling creatures where help was needed most.

Therefore, when he found the Elder God, there was no one but him, Cassandra, Varric, Morrigan and Solas left. Corypheus was busy constructing a magical set of steps, walls and towers that rose to the sky as they arrived, and seeing him, Maxwell felt scared and vulnerable. He hid it all in.

“Corypheus,” the man hissed, and Solas put a hand on his shoulder.

“Be careful, Inquisitor.”

The Elder God didn’t rush to interrupt his work, but he did turn around to meet his enemy. Or, his future pet. Maxwell cringed, banishing the thought, and was glad he was wearing his helmet today. Otherwise, his companions would have witnessed his uncertainty.

“You have been most successful in foiling my plans,” Corypheus said, rolling the orb in his hands. His voice held little anger and was rich with smugness. “But let us not forget what you are. A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat. A soon to be puppet-”

“Also the Herald of Andraste, nice to meet you,” Maxwell cut him off. “Don’t think you’ll get me so easily.”

The Elder God smiled. “Then, we shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”

He raised his long hand and snapped his fingers, and a deafening roar rose from the wall behind him. Proudly, his dragon climbed it up, growled into the air and leapt at Maxwell’s companions. All of them scattered into different sides, but Morrigan accepted the fight, transforming into her dragon form. She bit at the other’s neck, reflected the attack, and both dragons flew off to continue their battle.

Corypheus snarled. “You dare. Well, as you wish. Let us do it the other way.”

Before Maxwell could ask what the ‘other way’ might be, the Elder God disappeared. On his place, a small red circle appeared, and it swiftly made its way up to the pointy tops of the massive construction. The Herald wanted to call out to his companions so they would travel up together, but Corypheus’s voice rang in his head beforehand.

_FOLLOW ME._

The Inquisitor’s feet obeyed. Walking away, Maxwell noticed new demons coming his way – these must have been summoned to separate him from the rest of the group. His mind, however, was too terrified to function properly and could only focus on the single known solution as his hand sank into the bag, searching for it.

“We’ll handle them!” Cassandra shouted, unaware of his internal struggle. Varric joined her, and Solas tried to run after the man - unfortunately, his way was instantly blocked by demons.

Meanwhile, Maxwell walked and walked, and by the time he retrieved his lyrium box and fished out a bottle with red one, he was already half way up. He opened the bottle, lifted the helmet and devoured the contents - to his relief, his feet slowed down. They did not stop completely, though, so he took out another one and used it too.

Red fog around the Herald intensified. Living chunks of meat that had been clinging to walls and ground now grew: they connected to each other and moved, conquering every object they covered.

_HURRY UP._

Maxwell pulled out two more bottles. Red liquid beckoned him, asked him to drink more and more, promised him safety. When the man tossed aside the empty bottles, the Elder God’s voice wasn’t reaching him anymore.

As Maxwell took his last step and saw Corypheus again, he wasn’t scared. The Elder God looked smaller, weaker, so frail among the moving walls that surrounded him. The fog was dawning on him, and he didn’t even suspect something was wrong. Maxwell smiled, edges of his mouth crooked in a way that would scare a normal person.

 ** _“Hello,”_** he greeted. The Elder God backed away.

“What have you-” he began, but two roars interrupted him: the dragons bit at each other and started to lose height, gravitating towards the ground. Both seemed to be exhausted, and if so, the Inquisitor was sure his companions would destroy the hostile one. And if not, he’d do it himself once he beat Corypheus to a bloody pulp.

As he was thinking that, another roar rose – now from below – and the Elder God wailed in response.

“Let it end here! Let the skies boil, let the world be rent asunder!” he shouted, raising the glowing orb above his head. His eyes darted to Maxwell. “I will bind you, as I have bound so many before! _Kneel before me!”_

The Herald tilted his head and instead raised his left hand; the Anchor on it shone like a bright star. Another roar surged from below, and he recognized pain in it - pain and unwillingness to meet the inevitable end. His companions were butchering Corypheus’s pet.

“I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages…” the Elder God spat, and the orb burst with red light, charging up. “Dumat! Ancient ones! I beseech you! If you exist – if you ever existed – aid me now!”

Maxwell spread his fingers and let the mark fulfill its duty. The orb jerked in its crimson sphere and escaped from Corypheus’s grasp to meet its new master. The Herald caught the orb and held it out to the Elder God to mock him.

 ** _“Want this back?”_** he asked as his enemy fell to his knees. **_“Or… maybe you want into the Fade?”_**

The man shifted the orb to his other hand and pointed the Anchor at Corypheus. The mark went wild and released its light; omnipotent, it embraced the resisting Elder God and imprisoned him, got into him, burned him alive until he fell apart like an old rag doll.

 ** _“Pathetic, as all you have ever achieved,”_** Maxwell grumbled and raised the orb towards the Breach. The Anchor’s power mixed with it, and a thick ray of light fired into the sky, sealing its wound once and for all.

Maxwell felt so strong. Having done its job, the orb lost its value, and the man dropped it to the floor - but even without it he felt like he was carrying some kind of great power. And there was also hunger… a beast he wanted to calm down but didn’t exactly know how. Maybe, an essential knowledge would come later.

Maxwell thought there would be no threats anymore, and so he was about to retreat and leave the gross, meaty and bloody structure behind him for good, but suddenly a hundred of footsteps rose from below, hitting the steps in a chaotic and noisy rhythm. The Inquisitor turned around and saw demons; they must have defeated both his companions and soldiers at some point. Despite realizing that, Maxwell was satisfied: he’d never used his great sword against Corypheus, but at least he’d cut though the demons.

He unsheathed the sword and ran down the stairs, meeting the crowd with a broad grin. His weapon sliced through the flesh, and the man drank in the inhuman screams his actions caused. The demons were no match for him anymore, and he enjoyed killing them to no end.

That was, until one of them managed to knock the sword out of the Herald’s hands. Maxwell didn’t feel upset by it too much, though: he snatched a knife from his belt and jumped at the demon, gifting a nasty cut to its face. His enemy screeched and fell to its knees and then down to the floor, crying out as the man beat it with his feet.

“Maker’s breath! What are you doing?!” a voice shouted in horror.

Immediately, Maxwell halted.

 ** _“Cullen,”_** he greeted, turning to face the man and temporary leaving the demon to its misery. **_“How are the others doing?”_**

The Commander ran past him without answering. He kneeled by the defeated demon and took it in his arms, checking the damage it had taken. The Herald scowled, failing to understand why he was doing that.

“What have you done?!” Cullen questioned him, both desperate and furious. His arms tightened around the enemy as he held it.

 ** _“What have_** **I _done?”_** Maxwell repeated, getting angry as well. ** _“_ I _have sealed the Breach!_ I _have defeated Corypheus!”_**

“And that makes you think you can do… _this_?!” the Commander cried out. “What kind of monster are you?!”

This was getting so out of hand. The Herald growled, sheathed his knife and walked up to the kneeling man. He took a hold of Cullen’s elbow and dragged him up; at first the Commander struggled, but eventually he gave in, laying the demon back to the ground as carefully as he could before getting to his feet.

“ ** _Care to explain what’s happening?”_** Maxwell demanded, letting him go.

“I would’ve asked the same of you, but we don’t have time,” Cullen hissed. “She’s dying, all thanks to you!”

 ** _“_** **She _?”_** The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. ** _“Since when do demons have gender?”_**

There was silence. Cullen blinked, evidently trying to get what was happening, and Maxwell waited for him to stop fooling around. Whatever spell Corypheus had the Inquisition under, it needed to end.

 ** _“Whom do you see when you look at that demon?”_** he asked, pointing behind the Commander. Cullen swallowed, slowly looked over his shoulder and then returned his wide eyes to the man. Very cautiously, as if a touch could kill, he raised his hands and pressed them to the Inquisitor’s helmet. Maxwell didn’t object the weird action and allowed the Commander to remove it; maybe they’d have a normal conversation once they were facing each other directly.

Yet when the Commander took it off, things got worse for some reason. Cullen froze, and his mouth hung open, letting no words out. A second later his shivering hands let go of the helmet, and with a clanking sound it hit the floor, attracting the Herald’s attention and making him angrier as successfully.

 ** _“What was that?”_** Maxwell asked. Cullen made a few shaky steps back, towards the demon.

“You took it…” he muttered, the volume of said words making the man strain his ears. “You took so much-”

 ** _“What, red lyrium?”_** the Herald cut him off. **_“So what? I did what I had to do. It was the only way to defeat Corypheus.”_**

“It changed you…” the Commander breathed out, and it seemed to Maxwell like tears were forming in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know what to do anymore, all of this was just so… _wrong_.

 ** _“Listen…”_** he attempted, but Cullen ignored him. The Commander squatted and brought the demon closer again, and everything Maxwell might have wanted to say vanished from his head. Anger took the entire room, and he snarled, darting to the man and grabbing his wrist.

“Let go of me!” Cullen hit the Inquisitor with his elbow, but Maxwell was too stubborn to let the pain prevail. He pushed the Commander back up and refused to release him.

 ** _“You’re awfully friendly with that demon,”_** he announced. **_“I’m fed up.”_**

“What-”

The Herald’s fingers slid up and locked around Cullen’s remaining ones:  this time, he’d do things right. The Anchor came to life against the Commander’s flesh and started to emit green light that quickly absorbed their joined hands. Cullen tried to break free; according to everything Maxwell knew, he should have been able to do so easily. Yet he couldn’t.

 ** _Must have something to do with my new power,_** the man decided.

“What are you doing?!” the Commander huffed, never ceasing his effort. Maxwell gripped him more forcefully.

 ** _“I’m opening a rift,”_** he answered coolly. **_“Told you, I’m fed up with it. We’re sending the remaining bastards home. If I feel like letting them live, that is.”_**

It was as if his words somehow added to Cullen’s strength. “NO!” the man screamed, thrashing in the Inquisitor’s arms, and Maxwell lost his balance. Together, they tumbled to the ground with him ending up on top of the Commander – he was disoriented, but the Anchor continued its work. A rift was forming ahead, tearing the border of the realm.

 ** _“I will show you I’m right!”_** Maxwell swore.

As he was saying that, the mark exploded in pain.

 ** _What-_** the man managed to process before it got to him, and he howled, his whole body jerking. When Maxwell glared at the source, he saw his knife sticking out of the mark, and his hand was pinned to Cullen’s, which in its turn was pinned to the ground. Blood was pouring out rapidly, oddly luminous in the unnatural light.

Under him, the Commander choked out a cry. He tore the knife away, threw the helplessly moaning Herald off himself and began crawling back to the demon, abandoning the man to suffer. Maxwell watched him in tears of agony and rage, clutching his burning hand and unable to stand up. He’d sacrificed and went through so much, and now he was getting _this_ in return.

_This…_

**_“Cullen…wait…”_** he begged, and as the Commander slipped away, Maxwell remembered how they’d used to be friends. Utterly repulsed, he fainted from the pain.

***

The Herald woke up in a dimly lit room he didn’t recognize. He was sitting on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, and when he tried to bring down his hands, he understood they were tied. His left was thoroughly bandaged but still hurt as if he had it shoved in a fireplace.

“Where am I…” the man muttered, looking around, and it was then when he noticed he wasn’t alone. With a tired face, Cullen was watching him from the table by the door; like the Herald’s, his hand was bandaged. Seeing it reminded Maxwell of the Winter Palace and made him shiver. “Cullen… why am I tied up?” he asked weakly.

The Commander sighed and rose from the chair. “I ordered that,” he answered, approaching the man. “That’s what I do when someone turns against the Inquisition.”

“Turns against- what do you mean?! I _saved_ the Inquisition!” Maxwell objected. Cullen didn’t argue, only shook his head.

“You might want to say that to Cassandra,” he said. “Provided she ever wakes up.”

The Herald froze. “What…?”

He couldn’t understand. He’d faced Corypheus, closed the Breach and destroyed the remaining demons- there was nothing more to it!

“What happened?!” he demanded an answer, but Cullen refused to give him one. He raised his damaged hand instead and touched Maxwell’s cheek gently, showing an emotion the Inquisitor hadn’t seen for a long time.

“You should’ve trusted me. Should’ve told me about the red lyrium,” Cullen whispered. “Maybe then I would’ve been able to save you.”

“Save me?” Maxwell scowled, resisting the urge to lean into the warmth. “From what?”

“From what’s going to happen to you soon.” The Commander withdrew his hand abruptly. “You have murdered a lot of people, Maxwell. Your people. Actually, except for Cassandra, none of those who got to you survived.”

“What-”

“This is why it has been decided to make you tranquil.”

“ _What?!_ ” The Inquisitor shuddered, and the short, pleasant touch was instantly forgotten. He pressed into the wall like a trapped animal, feeling horrified of the mere thought. Why was it happening? He’d saved Thedas, he’d defeated Corypheus, he’d… why were they… “Why?!” he cried, trying to free his hands and failing miserably. “Cullen, I saved these people! You all should be thanking me!”

“No… we shouldn’t,” the Commander answered, his voice sounding pinched and uneven. “I’m sorry, Maxwell. I wish I could protect you. You and all those you killed.”

The man turned away, his shoulders hanging low, and started walking towards the door. Maxwell dashed after him and was restrained by chains – one that was holding his left wrist hurt him like hot steel.

“Wait!” he shouted desperately, scared of being left alone. “You can’t do this to me! I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t harm Cassandra!”

The Commander slowed down but didn’t stop. He lowered his head and brought a hand up to his face.

“If you don’t believe me, ask any of my companions, they should have been there! Ask Solas!” Maxwell went on.

However, Cullen raised his head again and continued walking. No words spoken. That made the Herald panic.

“Where is Solas? Call him! He’ll tell you everything! Cullen, please!” he yelled, but his demands were ignored. The Commander reached the door and grabbed the handle, sharing one last look with the Inquisitor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and opened the door.

“No! Wait… Cullen, I love you, I love you so much… You can’t do this…” Maxwell begged, dropping his chin. Tears cut through his skin and ran down his cheeks; he was so afraid and lost, and the only man who could protect him was leaving him.

The Commander didn’t return even though he looked like he really wanted. He seemed devastated as well, and his eyes were sad and moist. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and left.

“Traitor…” Maxwell choked out, and then the door was shut, separating the room from the rest of the world.

***

The sun was high when the Inquisition was celebrating its victory over Corypheus. The sealed Breach was looming over the ground, but no one was scared of it anymore – in fact, some considered it to be ‘a green jewel of the sky’, and Maryden even invented a song about it and presented it to the crowd that was waiting for the Inquisitor’s arrival. Skyhold sang it together with her, and people were happy and danced merrily.

But nothing could contain their joy when the Herald of Andraste finally walked out of the castle and raised his hands in a greeting – a knight of Inquisition in shining white armor, their savior. The crowd cheered and clapped, expressing their eternal respect.

Not a single one of them knew that behind the shining white helmet the Inquisitor’s eyes were empty.


	21. Author's note

Hello! Here’s the note I promised to all of you several days ago; it’s very important, so it’s getting a post of its own. If you clicked on this while looking for the story ending, I suggest going back a chapter and reading that first.

If you have already finished the last chapter, then welcome! :3

Firstly and most importantly, I want to thank you all for being there for me, especially those who found time to support me with their comments, likes etc.: these inspired me and determined the course of this story (yeah, your support is powerful like that. We authors need your comments more than you need our chapters, I swear).

Secondly, a BIG THANK YOU to Elliot, who’s reading everything I write before I post it. Without him this story would be far, FAR worse. I’m lucky to have you as a friend <33

Thirdly, this story is getting a sequel (:D). There are questions that need answering, and I cannot simply abandon them. If you’re satisfied with the ending we have here, you’re free to see it as _the_ ending, but if you’re not, you might want to start checking my page from time to time: the sequel is getting its fresh set of chapters ~~(starting next week, probably)~~  (starting two weeks from now). They will be shorter, so the updates should be faster.

Fourthly, _this_ story (i.e. "A Breach in His Heart") is now under reconstruction because when I’m rereading it I feel like I was drunk while writing half of it (:DD) It won’t change much, but some things are just asking to be corrected.

Lastly, if you have found serious mistakes in the plot, please contact me on tumblr. I have the same name there, so it shouldn’t be hard to find me. If you leave anonymous messages, I won’t be able to answer.

That’s about it. Thank you all again and see you soon! I hope.

XD

**tl;dr:**

This gets a sequel, and thank you all for your support.


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